Secrets and Lies
by sugah66
Summary: A routine reconnaissance mission goes horribly wrong when Malcolm and Kamea are kidnapped by a rogue sect of Andorians. AU. 4th in a series, following Ohana. COMPLETE.
1. Concerning Concern

**TITLE: The Kamea Chronicles, part 4: Secrets and Lies**  
**AUTHOR: Sugah Sugah  
****SUMMARY: A routine reconnaissance mission goes horribly wrong when Malcolm and Kamea are captured by a rogue sect of Andorians.  
****SPOILERS: Through "Home" (season 4, episode 3)  
****RATING: T – language and violence. Parental discretion is advised.  
****DISCLAIMER: Dude, I'm telling you, I don't own "Enterprise". I wish I did, because then I would fire B&B and that ridiculous excuse for a finale never would have made it out of the writers' room.  
****AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the fourth in my alternate universe series, following "The One and Only", "Adjusting", and "'Ohana" (in that order). I'd suggest reading those before attempting to read this, but that's just me. Some people like to be confused. I am not one of those people.  
As you will see at the beginning of this chapter, this story takes place about 6 weeks after the end of "'Ohana."  
****Mad props go out to the Vulcan Language Dictionary, without whom I would not be able to write anything in Vulcan.  
****_Krei _– female cousin  
****_Rom-mu-yor_ – good night**

**Sorry it took so long for me to get this up! Several factors have contributed to the long wait, such as my new job and the loss of my grandfather, but I hope that this story is worth the wait! I have most of it written now, so the updates will be much more regular than they were for "'Ohana". I'm hoping to update at least every 3 days.**

**Reviews are greatly appreciated.**

**

* * *

**

**The Kamea Chronicles**

**Part Four: Secrets and Lies**

**Chapter One: Concerning Concern**

_Captain's Log:_

_Stardate: July 14, 2154_

_I feel the need to report that we've gone almost six weeks without an accident. The engines are still functioning normally, and no one on my engineering staff has needed to report to sickbay at all over the past month. All in all, it would seem as though Commander Tucker's decision to take these upgrades slowly has proven to be a good one._

_On a semi-related note, I must say that I'm confused with Starfleet's decision to classify my report on our incident with the Ferengi. I feel that all of Earth's ships should be put on the alert for this species, or at least know how to handle themselves should they ever encounter them. But Admiral Forrest has informed me that the incident was so humiliating that they refuse to release it for fear that it will only serve to confirm what Vulcans have suspected all along – that we aren't ready for space travel._

_Well, the Vulcans can suspect all they want, but I think we've managed to take care of ourselves out here, and I don't know what Starfleet hopes to gain by keeping this incident under wraps. Maybe they're hoping that it will all be forgotten, that no one will encounter these Ferengi ever again._

_That said, I've decided to steer _Enterprise_ toward an uncharted system about six light-years from our present location. I've heard rumors of a rare O-class planet hiding out there, and I'd love to check it out.

* * *

_

T'Pol prided herself on her patience. Dealing with humans, especially emotionally volatile humans like Trip and Captain Archer, required a great deal of patience. She generally did not get frustrated easily, but she was rapidly losing what little remained of her seemingly infinite patience the longer she attempted to instruct her cousin in the proper meditation techniques.

Kamea had not been exaggerating when she stated that she had never been good at meditation. She was abysmal. It was no wonder she was trudging around the ship looking as though she could barely keep her eyes open. Vulcan meditation, when properly performed, could energize a person in much the same fashion that a few hours of sleep could. It wasn't quite the same, nor would the person be as well rested, but it served its function. Of course, substituting meditation for sleep for prolonged periods of time was not recommended. Kamea, apparently, had been attempting to do so for nearly eight years.

She had come to T'Pol almost two weeks ago, asking not for the neuro-pressure T'Pol had offered, but for advice on how to meditate. She refused to say why she would not accept one or two neuro-pressure sessions, but the longer T'Pol spent with her the more she began to believe that one or two sessions would do Kamea no good. She needed at least a month and half of sleep if she was ever going to recharge in the way her body so desperately needed to.

However, T'Pol had offered her assistance, so she agreed to tutor Kamea. It was a decision she had started to regret from the minute Kamea had entered her quarters.

T'Pol watched as Kamea tried again. She had managed to obtain the correct posture after several failed attempts, but now her breathing was incorrect. T'Pol shook her head. "You are not breathing properly," she said. "Allow me to demonstrate." She took a slow, deep breath through her nose and exhaled it just as slowly through her mouth. Then she gestured that Kamea should repeat the exercise.

Kamea's blue eyes were glassy with fatigue and frustration. "I know how to breathe."

Normally, such a response would have elicited a raised eyebrow. But Kamea's nerves had been shot for quite some time, and T'Pol knew that the uncharacteristic bite in her voice was a result of her lack of sleep. "Then do it correctly."

Kamea groaned and allowed her body to slide out of the meditation posture. "God, I can recalibrate a plasma cannon and I can't breathe right. This is not normal."

T'Pol bit her lip to prevent herself from stating the obvious, that Kamea herself was not normal. As the only Vulcan/human hybrid in the galaxy, much about the girl was abnormal. She chose, however, not to comment. "It simply takes patience, a trait which you obviously do not possess."

Kamea narrowed her eyes, but only slightly. She did not seem to have the energy to glare properly. She sighed and shook her head. "Look, I know you're doing everything you can, and I really appreciate you taking the time to help me, but I don't think this is working." She paused, bringing her hand to her forehead as though she were in pain. "Maybe I should just talk to Phlox about sedatives."

T'Pol pursed her lips. "If I may offer a suggestion…"

Kamea shook her head firmly. "No. No neuro-pressure."

She never mentioned why, and it was not in T'Pol's nature to pry, but she knew that it was the best option. "It worked for Commander Tucker…"

The girl snorted. "Trip wasn't having the kind of problems sleeping that I am."

T'Pol crossed her arms. Vulcans rarely made assumptions – they made logical deductions, based on given information – but humans had a knack for jumping to conclusions, and Kamea was no exception. "Forgive me, Kamea, but you were not on _Enterprise_ while the commander was having trouble sleeping. How can you be so certain that your insomnia differs from his?"

Kamea lolled her head to the side, staring at a spot just to the left of T'Pol. "These aren't just dreams, T'Pol," Kamea said. "It's like I relive it. I can taste the sea air. I can smell the rain. I can feel my father's…" She trailed off with a choked sob and hugged her knees to her chest, rocking slowly back and forth.

T'Pol sat in stunned silence. Kamea so rarely opened up about her insomnia that T'Pol felt privileged to be the one to whom she was confiding. "Perhaps it would help if you were to…talk about it."

Kamea cocked an eyebrow. "With you?"

T'Pol stiffened. That hadn't been what she had in mind. Vulcans by nature were a very private people. T'Pol had learned to be slightly more open in the presence of the other crewmembers, who considered her lack of sharing to be slightly snobbish, but she was still not the type of person to break down and reveal all of her innermost secrets. She was not even prepared to do so with Trip, and he was the one person to whom she felt closest out of all the other beings in the galaxy. But Kamea had sounded so hopeful that she felt she ought to try. It couldn't hurt to at least listen to the girl.

"If you feel comfortable talking to me, I would be willing to listen," T'Pol said.

For several moments, T'Pol believed that Kamea was on the verge of opening up, but then the girl retreated back into the solitude of her own mind and shook her head slowly. "That's all right, _krei_," she said. "I wouldn't want to burden you with my problems. It's something I should learn to deal with myself, anyway."

Taken aback by Kamea's use of the familial address, T'Pol folded her hands in her lap. "It has been nearly eight years, Kamea, and you are still unable to sleep. It seems to me as though you are incapable of 'dealing with it' on your own." She straightened. "If you do not feel comfortable speaking with me, perhaps you would consider Doctor Phlox? He is an excellent listener."

But Kamea was already getting to her feet. "Nah, it's cool. He's busy. I don't want to bother him."

T'Pol also stood. "I'm sure he would be most interested to hear – "

Kamea turned sharply, and there was a hardness in her eyes to which T'Pol was not accustomed to seeing on her. "I said I'm fine."

T'Pol staggered from the edge in her cousin's voice. She found herself feeling hurt by the bitterness in her tone. She fought to keep her voice flat when she said, "You asked for my assistance. I was only trying to help."

Kamea's eyes softened somewhat. "I know. And I do appreciate it. But this is just…" She trailed off, her eyes gazing upwards. After a minute, during which she seemingly had to compose herself, she said, "It's my problem, T'Pol. I'll deal with it." She had reached the door and opened it. "Thank you for your time. _Rom-mu-yor, krei_."

The door slid shut with a hiss.

T'Pol sat back down. She had already designated this block of time for meditation, and it would be a shame to waste it. Her session with Kamea had triggered an unusual emotional response, and she would need to get those emotions under control before she attempted to do anything about her cousin's current predicament. Even as she closed her eyes and began her breathing, T'Pol was already formulating a plan.

_Kamea and Lieutenant Reed seem to get along quite well_, she thought, while picturing a tranquil flame burning brightly in her mind. _Perhaps he could be persuaded to speak with her._

* * *

For yet another night, sleep would elude Kamea. She was less than surprised. Her meditation session with T'Pol had not gone as she had hoped. Indeed, meditation on the whole was not progressing as she'd anticipated, but was instead having unforeseen and unpleasant consequences. Rather than suppressing the memories of her parents' deaths, meditation brought them to the surface. Now it seemed as though every time Kamea closed her eyes she was being forced to relive that awful day, until she was loath to even blink. 

She knew better than to attempt to go to sleep. She wouldn't be able to, so it would be a waste of time to try. She was not permitted in engineering when Commander Tucker wasn't there – that damn rule of the captain's – and she had already read her way through the ship's library twice. So she went to the launch bay to work on her own ship, which she had been neglecting the past few weeks.

Under normal circumstances, Kamea would have had her ship space worthy in a matter of days. And considering she had some of the finest engineers in the galaxy at her disposal, it wouldn't have even taken that long. But these were not normal circumstances. For the first time in eight years, Kamea was back among humans. She didn't have to watch what she said in case it meant something not nice in a different language. She didn't have to wonder what her food consisted of. She wasn't constantly looking over her shoulder, expecting to be attacked. It was nice. Kamea hadn't realized how much she'd missed her own kind until she was back among them. And part of the reason she'd been neglecting her ship was because she didn't want to leave _Enterprise_. Captain Archer had extended her an invitation to stay until her ship was finished, but if she never worked on it, she couldn't finish it, and therefore couldn't leave. She would have to stay.

Normal circumstances also did not include her insomnia, which unfortunately was growing worse and beginning to take its toll. Her concentration was slipping, and there had been several occasions on which she had injured herself assisting with Trip's upgrades and had to report to sickbay. She had asked Phlox not to mention her very minor injuries to either Trip or the captain, because Trip had commented more than once that she should get some sleep before she hurt herself, and the captain simply didn't like her poking around the engines. He tried to hide it, but he was a lousy liar.

Suddenly glad for the distraction, Kamea threw herself into rebuilding her ship. It was almost finished anyway; all that was required was to tighten the screws securing the hull plating, to recalibrate the communications array, and to update the ship's log. She eventually lost track of time and didn't realize she had worked through the night until she sensed someone behind her.

It was Malcolm. She was hardly shocked to see him. T'Pol was becoming more and more meddlesome the more time they spent together, and Kamea should have assumed that – unable to get anything out of Kamea – she would have sicced Malcolm on her.

"Did you not sleep again last night?" Malcolm asked, by way of a greeting. It was becoming a ritual that he would greet her in this manner.

Kamea kept her back turned, forcing herself to concentrate on tightening the screws securing the pilot's seat to the floor – which she had actually done quite some time ago, but one could never be too careful. "T'Pol ask you to check on me?"

He was so tense that she could feel it. She didn't need to be looking at him to know that that vein on his forehead was throbbing, which it generally did when he was stressed. "She's concerned about you, is all," he said. "So am I."

She rolled her eyes. _Good answer._ "There's no need to worry. I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Kamea. I wish you'd stop saying that."

Was there some ship's rule about not minding your own business? Kamea was beginning to think so. Because now Trip, Malcolm, Phlox, and T'Pol were "concerned" for her welfare, and it was beginning to drive her crazy. She wished that they would all just leave her alone. She didn't want to talk about it. Ever.

"Then stop asking me," she said. She stood up and backed out of the door, taking care not to trip on the step to the deck.

Malcolm moved so quickly that she didn't have time to react, and suddenly he was in front of her, bracing his hands on either side of the door to her ship. He was a good foot taller than her, so the gesture was highly intimidating. "I'm serious."

She narrowed her eyes, fighting to keep calm. If she got angry and lost control now, she could hurt something. "So am I."

Kamea moved to the other side of her ship, searching for some menial task that she could do and not concentrate too hard on, because at the moment she wanted to be pissed off. But Malcolm followed her as she circled her pod. "This isn't healthy, Kamea. Your body needs sleep. I've been talking to Phlox and – "

She stopped abruptly, causing him to run into her, and whirled around. Her hair got stuck in her mouth, and she angrily tucked it behind her ear. "Look, Malcolm, when I want your opinion…" She trailed off, hoping that the pause was dramatic enough to make her point. "I will never want your opinion."

Malcolm glared at her, his arms crossed. "Well, excuse me for not wanting you to drop dead of exhaustion!"

Had they really degenerated this far? The last time she'd had an argument of this level of maturity had been in the third grade – and a few in college, but only while intoxicated. She snorted and became engrossed with her data transmitter. "You're excused."

He threw his arms up in what she presumed to be a gesture of defeat, and for a minute she thought he was going to leave. But then he was beside her, and his unique and incredibly intoxicating scent was filling her nostrils, and damn if it didn't take all of the little strength she had left to remained focused on her transmitter. He leaned over, until his lips almost brushed her ear. "Why won't you talk to me?" he asked, his voice soft. "Why won't you let me help you?"

She couldn't turn to look at him, because if she did, she knew that her lips would touch his and she could not let that happen. "I don't need any help," she said.

"Bollocks," he said, and he was probably the only person in the universe who could make that word sound sexy. "I'd ask if all Vulcans are this stubborn or just you, but I've known T'Pol long enough to know the answer to that question."

Kamea chose not to comment. Because at the moment, the transmitter was the most fascinating thing in the world. Even though she had already recalibrated it, and there was absolutely nothing else that she could do to it, she kept her eyes glued to it. The alternative was not an option at this point in time. She was too exhausted, too weak to resist.

Malcolm heaved an overdramatic – or at least she thought so – sigh. "Very well, if you don't want to talk, I can't force you."

She rolled her eyes and bit her tongue. _And yet, it doesn't stop you from trying, does it?_ "I appreciate your concern," she said, stifling the urge to clench her teeth, "but I'm fine."

He mercifully took the hint and left her alone. She waited until she was certain that he was gone before she broke down. The effort of directing her focus away from Malcolm had weakened her resistance to the memories, and the moment he left they'd come back full force. _Anger – vengeful, wrathful anger. Hatred – vile, unabashed hatred. Pain – extreme pain. Sorrow – overwhelming, all-consuming sorrow. Then blackness. Then nothing._ She almost choked on the blackness that followed, fighting against the upsurge in her emotions that those memories triggered. Clearly, her meditation sessions with T'Pol would have to cease. She'd have to find a new way to re-energize herself every morning.

Kamea dropped the tool she'd been holding and collapsed against the hull of her ship. She took several deep, calming breaths, and when those failed she took several more. She just wanted to be able to close her eyes. Was that really too much to ask for?

After a while, she got to her feet and headed for the training room. She had the sudden urge to punch something.


	2. The Unexplored Planet

**Chapter Two: The Unexplored Planet**

Trip smelled pecan pie and licked his lips in anticipation. The day just kept getting better and better; first, he and Rostov had managed to purge the impulse manifolds without igniting the thrusters, thereby not instigating a cataclysmic explosion like last time. And now, the mess hall had pecan pie. This was quickly becoming one of the greatest days of his life.

And speaking of the greatest day of his life, he noticed T'Pol sitting off to the side, immersed in the PADD she was holding and daintily sipping her tea. He grabbed a couple slices of pie and made his way through the sea of tables to join her.

He sat down without an invitation, but he hardly thought he needed one at this stage in their relationship. After everything they had been through together, not being asked to sit down seemed like a paltry thing to argue about. Besides, she often sat with him without being invited, so he didn't think anything of it. And she didn't even acknowledge his presence, apparently engrossed in whatever it was she was reading.

One slice of pie was gone before T'Pol even glanced at him. She gave him a nod in greeting and returned to the PADD, and by then he was dying to know what was so fascinating.

"What're you reading?" he asked, placing the empty plate under one of the others that still contained a slice of pie.

T'Pol glanced at him briefly, but when she spoke, her attention had returned to the PADD. "I visited the ship's library this morning, seeking information on insomnia."

He stopped mid-gesture, leaving his fork suspended above his second slice of pie, and raised his eyebrows. This was news to him. "You having trouble sleeping?"

She shook her head, still not looking at him. "No. This is for Kamea."

He took a bite of pie and furrowed his brow in confusion. Apparently, he was out of the loop on this subject. "I thought you were teaching her how to meditate. I thought meditation was just as good as sleep."

This time T'Pol's brown eyes met his blue ones. "I don't believe I ever said that. When performed properly, meditation can energize the body in the way that sleep can, but it is not quite as effective, and it is not intended to be used for long periods of time."

Trip couldn't help but notice the way T'Pol had emphasized "properly", nor could he ignore the frustration that was radiating off her in waves. He raised an eyebrow. "It's not working, then?"

The muscles in T'Pol's jaw tightened, the only outward sign of her frustration. "Kamea was correct in stating that she is not good at meditation. She does not believe it is alleviating her symptoms, and I must concur. She refuses neuro-pressure, so I was searching for alternative methods of curing insomnia."

He resisted the urge to sigh. He had tried to get Kamea to confide in him about the nightmares he knew she had, but she simply would not open up. And he didn't want to pry too much, because he knew how much Vulcans – apparently even half-Vulcans – valued their privacy, and also because he knew that T'Pol was jealous of how much time he spent with Kamea. But he knew he wouldn't be able to hide his concern, because T'Pol was just as adept at interpreting his moods as he was of reading hers. It was highly unnerving, and though he wanted to know what the hell was going on, he knew better than to ask. T'Pol would never admit anything.

"I am concerned for her as well," T'Pol said, confirming Trip's suspicion that she knew what he was thinking. "She will not be able to keep this pace much longer."

Trip nodded, thankful at least that T'Pol had mentioned it first. "I've tried to talk to her, but she won't talk to me." He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. "Maybe she'll talk to you."

T'Pol slowly shook her head. "She is not willing to speak with me. I asked Lieutenant Reed to speak with her – "

Trip groaned and rolled his eyes, effectively cutting off T'Pol's statement. "Don't do that, T'Pol. Girls hate it when you do that."

"I beg your pardon?" T'Pol asked, looking slightly put out.

Sighing, Trip set his fork down. Now he was going to have to do damage control. "Women don't like it when people – especially guys, and especially guys they're attracted to – only try to talk to them because someone asked them to."

A raised eyebrow was T'Pol's only response, but he could tell that she was not pleased with his comment. He shrugged apologetically and picked up his fork.

"I'm just saying," Trip said, finishing his second slice of pie, "if you want Kamea to open up, there's better ways to do it."

"I do not want Kamea to open up," said T'Pol. "I merely believe that it would be beneficial for her to talk about what happened to her parents, since that is clearly the root of her problems."

Trip could tell that T'Pol was unhappy with the current topic of conversation, so he decided to completely switch gears. He took a bite of his third slice of pie and looked up at her as he chewed. "Know anything about this planet the captain wants to see?"

The mood at the table lifted instantly. T'Pol set the PADD aside and angled her body to face his. "The Vulcan database does not contain much information, only that it is an O-class planet."

He grinned. That was the scientist in her, so excited about exploring a new planet. He loved that about her. Well, he loved most everything about her, truth be told. "So the rumors are true, then?"

She nodded. "The captain is very eager to visit this planet. There are very few known O-class planets, and even fewer that have been explored. None of those are inhabited, and I believe Captain Archer is hopeful that this planet is."

Trip scraped his fork along his plate, catching the last crumbs of his third and final piece of pie. "So, what's the name of this place anyway?"

T'Pol finished her tea and set her mug gently on the table next to the PADD. "Altara."

He sat up, pursing his lips. For some reason, that name sounded familiar. "And it's never been explored?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "There has been no record of any reconnaissance mission. Why do you ask?"

He coughed to clear his throat and stacked his plates. "No reason." But he knew she could tell that he was lying. Whatever kind of warped connection they had, it went both ways, and even though he tried to prevent her from sensing his moods, he wasn't quite sure how to do so.

"Are you familiar with this planet?" she asked.

Trip stood abruptly, gathering his plates and his fork. He couldn't tell if the unease that he felt was T'Pol's or his own, and the fact that he couldn't distinguish his own moods from hers was very upsetting – more upsetting than the fact that he could sense T'Pol's moods at all. And he didn't know why he was feeling uneasy; all he was sure of was that he'd heard that name before. "I don't think so," he said, trying to remain calm, if only to pacify T'Pol.

"But you are uncertain," T'Pol said. It was a statement, not a question.

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Name sounds familiar, is all." He used his head to gesture at her mug. "Want me to take that up for you?"

She said nothing, but handed her mug to him. He placed it on the top of his stack of plates and deposited all of the flatware at the counter for Chef to clean. He glanced back at T'Pol, to wave goodbye, and found that she was once again engrossed with the PADD. He sighed and turned to exit the mess hall, running smack dab into Malcolm as he did so.

"Sorry about that, Mal," Trip said, rubbing his forehead gingerly, where Malcolm's head had hit it. "Wasn't paying attention."

Malcolm grunted a reply and pushed past Trip to the beverage dispenser. Anxious to see what the hell Malcolm's problem was, Trip followed him. He waited until Malcolm had ordered his coffee – two sugars, same as always – before asking, "What exactly is your problem, Lieutenant?"

Malcolm sighed and shook his head. "Sorry, Commander," he said. "It's Kamea."

Trip nodded his head thoughtfully. Most of Malcolm's recent problems stemmed from Kamea, and Trip couldn't help but make a correlation between the two of them and himself and T'Pol. He grinned before he could stop himself but wiped it from his face before Malcolm noticed. "You talk to her this morning?"

Malcolm nodded, making a noise of disgust in the back of his throat. "That woman is…" He trailed off and took a sip of his coffee. "Well, I can't think of the correct descriptive term at the moment, but whatever it is, she's that."

Trip bit his cheek to keep from laughing. "Very informative, Malcolm."

"She's infuriating," Malcolm said, practically spitting it out. "She doesn't seem to care that she's running herself into the ground. She absolutely refuses my help and – "

"She's just got too many people all up in her business," Trip said. He leaned against the side of the beverage dispenser and watched Malcolm blow on his coffee to cool it – one long exhale, same as always. "I know how she feels. And with the meditation thing not working – "

"Meditation isn't working?" Malcolm asked, his coffee forgotten. His eyes narrowed. "She failed to mention that."

Trip pursed his lips, sensing that he had inadvertently wandered into the middle of an argument between Kamea and Malcolm. "Well, I get the sense it's not something she wants to discuss."

Malcolm looked, if possible, more upset at this statement. "But she'll discuss it with you."

Once again, Trip had to resist the urge to grin. _Oh ho, _he thought. _So that's it. Malcolm's jealous._ He could have fun with that, but now was not the time. He would save that for later. "Actually, T'Pol told me. Apparently, their session last night didn't go so well."

"I figured," Malcolm said, visibly relieved by the knowledge that Kamea was not confiding in Trip. "I found her in the launch bay this morning. She'd been working on her ship all night."

Trip raised his eyebrows involuntarily. "She must have been desperate." She hadn't worked on her ship in weeks. Trip suspected that she secretly didn't want to, that if her ship remained in a gazillion pieces, she would have no choice but to remain on _Enterprise_.

His mind clouded over suddenly, and he turned to find T'Pol approaching him and Malcolm. "Lieutenant," she said, "I believe we're due to start our shift on the bridge in seventeen minutes."

Malcolm nodded, not even bothering to check his watch. T'Pol's internal clock was better than any man-made time device. "I'm aware of that, Commander. I was hoping to get something to eat before heading up. I had a rough morning."

T'Pol nodded her head once, turned to Trip and nodded once more, then left the mess hall, carefully avoiding all contact with Trip as she did so. Ordinarily, he would have been offended, but he was too wrapped up in his conversation with Malcolm to really notice.

"If you'll excuse me, Commander," Malcolm said, "I really do need to eat something before my shift."

Trip furrowed his brow, but nodded. "All right. See you later, Malcolm." He paused, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek and debating if he should say what was on the tip of his tongue. Ultimately, he decided it couldn't do any harm. "Don't worry about Kamea. She'll come around."

He left immediately after Malcolm shot him a confused glance.

* * *

Archer stared out the view port at the planet before them. He couldn't take his eyes off of it. He'd never seen an O-class planet before – not up close, at least, only in pictures – and it was simply fascinating. It actually looked a little like Earth, except with a lot more water. There was one giant land mass that seemed to rest directly along what would have been called the equator on Earth. It was surrounded by a fairly thick atmosphere, which according to his science officer was composed mainly of oxygen and nitrogen – the same as Earth's. And that meant that they could send down a landing party without using the EV suits, which were highly uncomfortable. T'Pol also, much to Archer's extreme excitement, detected biosigns, but due to some sort of interference was not able to determine to which species they belonged. They could be humanoid, but then they could just be insects or small mammals. Still, according to T'Pol, none of the known O-class planets were even inhabited by the smallest forms of life, so this was already a first. 

He couldn't wait to go down to the planet at start exploring. This was without a doubt his favorite part about being captain of the _Enterprise._

"So this is Altara," Archer said, unable to keep the grin off his face. He turned to T'Pol. "And you're positive the Vulcans have never been here?" He absolutely loved going places the Vulcans had never been; it was very vindicating for him.

T'Pol nodded and said, in a voice of forced patience, "Yes, Captain. Vulcans are not accustomed to the high humidity present on O-class planets. Living on a desert planet has almost made us physically incapable of dealing with it."

Archer rubbed his hands together. "Excellent." He deliberately ignored the scathing look he knew was present on T'Pol's face and turned to Hoshi. "Any technology readings?"

Hoshi nodded. "I'm detecting a significant level of technology."

He widened his smile. "Hail them."

Hoshi's fingers flew across her console, but after several minutes, the view screen was still blank. She looked at him, her expression almost sheepish. "There's no response, Captain. I don't think the technology readings are coming from the planet."

Archer glanced back at T'Pol. "Could this interference be screwing with the communications?"

T'Pol cocked her head to the side. "That is always a possibility. From what I can tell, the interference is natural – something in the atmosphere."

"I thought you said it was oxygen and nitrogen."

She raised her eyebrows. "I said it was mostly oxygen and nitrogen. There is apparently something in the atmosphere that is interfering with our sensors. We will be unable to obtain any accurate readings so long as our sensors have to penetrate the atmosphere."

Archer's heart was beating a mile a minute. "So we should send some people down there to do a little exploring."

T'Pol pursed her lips, obviously reluctant to agree with the captain, but he could tell that was where the conversation was going. "It is the logical decision. However, I would advise you not to send anyone until we have attempted to determine the source of the interference. It is not wise to travel to a planet about which so little is known."

Archer's grin threatened to split his face. He walked over to his companel. "All senior staff report to the bridge."

As he released his finger from the button, he realized what a stupid announcement that had been, because the only member of his senior staff not currently present on the bridge was Trip, and Archer knew where he was. He shook his head; he was in too good a mood to care about his slip, and as soon as the door to the bridge slid open to reveal Trip, Archer started talking.

"All right, people," he said, though he was really only talking to Trip, who'd just arrived, "we have an unexplored planet with signs of life and technology readings, but no other information. What do we do?"

T'Pol cleared her throat. "It is customary to remain in orbit for several days, taking scans of the ship. Going down to the surface with the little information we have is not advisable."

"But if our scanners aren't working…" Malcolm said. He trailed off, leaving the rest of his sentence to the imagination.

"Whoa, hold on," Trip said, holding up his hands, "the scanners are working fine. Just ran a diagnostic not two hours ago."

"The scanners are functioning perfectly, Commander," T'Pol said, in an unusually soothing voice that made almost everyone on the bridge raise his or her eyebrows. "What Lieutenant Reed was attempting to say is that we are receiving some sort of interference that is preventing our sensors from taking accurate measurements."

Trip nodded thoughtfully. "So if our sensors can't take any readings, what good will it do to stay in orbit trying to take readings?"

T'Pol cocked an eyebrow. "It is illogical to land on a planet about which we know nothing."

"Hang on," Trip said. He crossed his arms and turned to face Archer. "Did you say something about life signs?"

Archer nodded enthusiastically, still grinning from ear to ear. "T'Pol's detected biosigns."

"But without the sensors, we are unable to determine the species," said T'Pol. There was a hint of impatience in her voice. "For all we know, the Altarans that the captain is so excited to meet could be nothing more than rodents."

Trip furrowed his brow and put a hand to his forehead. "I know I've heard that name before."

Archer just looked at Trip. "This is an undiscovered planet, Trip. Even the Vulcans have never been here before."

"I didn't say I'd been here," said Trip, more than a little annoyed. "I just said I've heard the name." He began muttering to himself, apparently trying to remember where he had heard the name before, which Archer thought was a pointless exercise. There were no records of any space-faring species having ever been to Altara before, so Trip could not have heard of it.

Archer turned his back on Trip and glanced around at the rest of his senior staff. "What do you guys think?"

Hoshi lifted one shoulder in a barely perceptible shrug. "It couldn't hurt to stay in orbit for another day, at least. Just to make sure that whatever's down there isn't hostile."

"I agree, sir," said Malcolm. Archer resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course his tactical officer would be cautious. If Malcolm had his way, every landing party would be required to go down to the surface in EV suits and with a fully armed escort. "Going down without any knowledge is suicide."

Travis, on the other hand, seemed just as excited as Archer. Having spent the vast majority of his young life on a ship in space, Travis loved being on landing parties and getting to explore new planets. He swiveled in his chair to look at Archer. "We could send a shuttle pod down inside the atmosphere, and try and take some readings from above the surface."

Trip suddenly snapped his fingers, causing Archer to turn around. His chief engineer was smiling. "I remembered." He pointed out the view port to the planet hovering before them. "Kamea's been there. She was talking about it. Got her pod there."

"Impossible," T'Pol said, shaking her head so violently Archer feared it would become separated from her neck. "There are no reports of any contact with this planet."

Trip shrugged. "Just because she didn't report it doesn't mean she's never been there." He looked at Archer. "Call her up here. She'd probably be a big help."

Against his better judgment, but because his chief engineer was so emphatic, Archer walked back over to the companel. "Archer to Kamea."

Kamea's voice echoed across the bridge. "Captain?"

"I need you to report to the bridge," Archer said. He stepped away from his chair and began to pace the area directly in front of it, chewing on his fingernails until the door to the bridge slid open and Kamea stepped through it. He turned to look at her.

She nodded her head shortly to acknowledge him and opened her mouth to speak but stopped suddenly, her eyes riveted to the view port behind him. Her eyes widened noticeably, and her bottom lip began to tremble. She took several deep breaths in what was apparently an attempt to calm down before saying, "Altara," in a voice that could barely be considered a whisper.

Then she passed out.

* * *

**A/N: A class-O planet is also called pelagic. Liquid water covers more than 80 percent of the surface, and the life-forms are mainly aquatic plants and animals. Thank my "Complete Atlas of Star Trek" for that bit of information.**


	3. Human Encyclopedia

**A/N: _mea po'ino -- danger  
lohe, 'olu'olu -- "listen, please"_**

* * *

**Chapter Three: Human Encyclopedia**

Phlox shook his head ruefully as he examined the scans he'd taken of Kamea. He turned angrily to face the nearest person, who happened to be Commander Tucker. "She should have been brought here immediately," he said furiously. "Why wasn't I informed that the meditation sessions have been unproductive?"

Commander Tucker drew his head back in surprise. "Hey, I just found out this morning. Don't blame me." He jerked his head in T'Pol's direction. "Blame her."

T'Pol defiantly folded her arms across her chest. "This could hardly be considered my fault," she said. "I am not a 'miracle worker'. It was Kamea who ended the sessions."

Phlox sighed and returned to his patient, who was still unconscious and had been so ever since fainting on the bridge. Lieutenant Reed had scooped the girl up in his arms and carried her down to sickbay, and the rest of the bridge crew had followed. They remained there, hovering just out of the way, waiting for the doctor's diagnosis. Truth be told, Phlox was surprised that Kamea had not passed out sooner. Her near-decade-long battle with insomnia should have incapacitated her ages ago; how she managed to keep functioning was a mystery.

He bent over her to check her vitals and her eyes suddenly snapped open.

"Kamea!" Phlox said, pleased that she had woken so quickly. The longer she remained unconscious, the less chance that she would wake. "How are you?"

She shook her head. "_Mea po'ino_."

"Danger?" Hoshi asked. Kamea nodded. "What danger?"

Kamea shook her head again and braced her hands on either side of the bio bed, attempting to sit up. Phlox pushed her back down as firmly as possible, and she started to thrash against his hands. "_Mea po'ino! Lohe, 'olu'olu. Mea po'ino._"

Phlox had no choice but to sedate her. "Lieutenant Reed! Hold her down!"

Lieutenant Reed raced over to follow the doctor's order, gripping Kamea by the shoulders and forcing her to remain on her back, despite her obvious disinclination to do so. Phlox ran to his hyposprays and filled one with the most powerful sedative that he had in his stores. Then he hurried back to Kamea and injected the sedative into her neck. She stopped thrashing instantly, her eyes rolled back to the whites, and she was unconscious again.

"What's wrong with her?" Travis asked, his voice filled with some sort of awe at what he had just witnessed.

"This can't just be because she isn't sleeping," Trip said.

Phlox had absolutely no idea. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she was delirious again – although that was not an impossibility. He had never witnessed anyone who had managed to go without sleep for as long as Kamea had; perhaps this was merely a side effect of her insomnia.

"I'll have to run some tests to be sure," said Phlox, "but at this stage, we can't rule anything out." He turned to Hoshi. "Do you know what she was saying?"

Hoshi sighed. "She kept saying 'danger'. Other than that, I don't know."

"Well," said Phlox, grabbing Lieutenant Reed by the elbow and gently steering him away from the bio bed, "I have to tend to my patient, so if you would all kindly give me some space…"

Captain Archer nodded solemnly. "Of course, Doctor." He glanced at T'Pol. "Perhaps we should take a few more scans from orbit before venturing down to the surface."

The senior staff left sickbay, though some of them took more time than the others. Travis and Hoshi exited fairly quickly, while Commander Tucker and T'Pol lingered. Lieutenant Reed was the last to leave.

"She'll be all right, won't she, Doctor?" he asked, the concern evident in his voice.

Again, Phlox had no idea. But he had been a physician long enough to know when people needed reassurance. He smiled and nodded. "Oh, yes. She'll be fine."

When everyone had left, Phlox set about his work. He repeated all of the tests he had performed on Kamea when she first arrived, unconscious in sickbay. He took a sample of her blood to analyze for any possible infections she may have contracted while on board _Enterprise_. Viral outbreaks were not uncommon; _Enterprise_ was a closed environment, but alien viruses had been known to creep aboard, and in such an enclosed area, they spread quickly. But no one else had presented any symptoms of illness, so Phlox ruled that out almost immediately. The test results confirmed it. She wasn't ill.

So what was it? Was it merely a result of her insomnia? She had come to him little more than a week ago and explained the situation. He was furious that she had not seen him earlier, but she claimed that she had been attempting a new treatment and only wanted to inform him so that he would know in case something happened. It astounded him that she had so little regard for her health, in that she refused all of his offers for treatment.

Kamea would be livid when she woke, because she was adamant against using sedatives. She wouldn't say why, but Phlox assumed that it had something to do with how she had ended up on _Enterprise_ in the first place. He had found traces of a sedative in her system during his first examination of her, but she had never explained the reasoning behind that.

She began to thrash violently again, murmuring in what he presumed to be Hawaiian, though she was still asleep. Phlox was forced to find some restraints and physically restrain her, lest she hurt herself or him.

Brain scans confirmed what he had suspected – that her delirium was a result of her insomnia. Her mental activity was off the charts, even more so than it had been when she was in her dehydration-induced coma, particularly in her right temporal lobe and cerebral cortex. She was obviously remembering something unpleasant, because her heart rate was increasing, the way it normally did when a person was experiencing a nightmare.

He wondered why, when she was delirious, she spoke in Hawaiian. From what he understood, Hawaiian was not a language that was often spoken on Earth, which may have explained why Hoshi did not immediately recognize it. Phlox knew that a lot of patients who were delirious often reverted back to their native language, because delirium caused a disorientation of time and place; they often forgot that they knew how to speak a certain language. But that Hawaiian and not Vulcan – or indeed even English – was Kamea's first language was simply fascinating. If this were going to become a common event, he would have to learn how to speak Hawaiian.

After finishing the necessary tests, he called Captain Archer to sickbay to report his findings.

"So this is just because she can't sleep," Captain Archer said after Phlox had summarized the results of his examination.

Phlox raised his eyebrows at the oversimplification, but that was common among humans. He nodded. "It would appear so. I know that she has nightmares, much the same as Commander Tucker's, and it would appear that her fainting spell triggered another one. When she came to, it was as if she were trapped in the nightmare. She didn't seem to realize where she was."

Captain Archer looked sharply at him. "Will she experience that when she wakes up this time?"

Phlox nodded, pointing to the display of Kamea's brain activity. "She appears to be in the throes of a very bad nightmare. I had to strap her to the bio bed."

The captain shook his head and scrubbed his hands across his face. "What's causing it?"

"I have no idea," Phlox said. "She won't talk about her nightmares, but I do believe that they are the reason behind her insomnia. Her condition is comparable to Commander Tucker's while we were in the expanse, only much more severe."

Captain Archer's face remained hidden behind his hands. His next words were muffled. "So why can't she just do neuro-pressure like Trip did?"

Phlox sighed heavily. "She refuses."

The captain looked at him in mild shock. "But if it will help her sleep – "

"She won't say why," said Phlox. "I have tried to convince her of the many benefits of neuro-pressure. Commander Tucker has also attempted to do so. Even T'Pol has expressed a willingness to help, but Kamea refuses every time."

Before Captain Archer could respond, another voice interrupted. "Why the hell am I strapped to the bed?"

Phlox and Captain Archer both turned to see that Kamea had regained consciousness. She appeared extremely angry at her current predicament. "I like you, Doctor," she said, "but not this much."

"It was necessary," said Phlox, as he approached the bio bed. "You were delirious."

She looked at him, her eyes narrowed, and she seemed to be perfectly lucid. "And now I'm not."

Phlox nodded and undid the restraints, then helped Kamea into a seated position and stepped back in order to allow her the room for her to slide off the bed. She glanced at the captain. "And I believe you asked me to come to the bridge," she said.

Captain Archer nodded. "I did."

She raised an eyebrow. "Still need me?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," said the captain. He used his head to gesture toward the door and turned on his heel.

Kamea moved to follow but Phlox stopped her before she got very far. "Kamea," he said, "when you get the chance, I'd like for you to stop and see me."

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I thought you were done with your tests."

"Yes," Phlox said, nodding, "but your insomnia is a fascinating – "

Kamea cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Fine. I'll stop by later tonight." She left without saying goodbye.

* * *

Archer and Kamea made their way to the bridge side by side, and Archer marveled at the turn of events since their encounter with the Ferengi. Over the past couple of weeks, Kamea had basically become part of the crew. Most of the crew had adopted her as some sort of mascot, and she was referred to as "the little hula girl" by many of the male crewmembers. She was treated with an enormous amount of respect by the engineering staff in particular, and everyone seemed to realize just how much she was capable of. 

He knew that some of the crew still resented Kamea's presence. Kamea, of course, said nothing, but several members of engineering – Rostov and Kelby, in particular – had informed him that there were some unkind comments being flung about their newest engineer. According to them, Kamea seemed to take it all in stride, but the captain didn't like the hostility that was beginning to fester. He thought they were past this. Of course, much of the crew was new, and xenophobia on Earth had reached an all-time high.

Neither Archer nor Kamea said a word until they reached the bridge, where the secondary bridge crew had taken their places at the controls. His senior staff had gathered in his ready room to discuss the current situation.

She wandered across the room to stand by Trip, which hardly surprised Archer.

"T'Pol," Archer said, figuring that his best bet was to just get the meeting underway and let Kamea catch up, "have you had any luck determining the source of the interference?"

His science officer shook her head, her arms folded across her chest. "No, captain. I can only assume that there is something in the atmosphere. If I may, sir, it would seem as though Ensign Mayweather's suggestion may be our most viable option."

Travis, who so rarely got complimented at all, let alone by T'Pol, suddenly stood up straighter, smiling broadly.

"I agree, sir," said Malcolm. "If we take a shuttle pod down just inside the atmosphere, we can take scans of the planet without interference and hopefully without being noticed."

"You won't be noticed," Kamea said, practically hidden behind the much taller Trip. She peered around him and met the captain's gaze. "Altarans are extremely primitive. They're amphibious. They look like komodo dragons with four arms. They believe in mysticism, magic, the black arts. They think that everything has a soul – not just animate objects, but rocks, dirt, water. They believe that if you can gain access to something's soul, you can control it. They don't even have weapons."

T'Pol cleared her throat. "We detected a significant level of technology."

Kamea furrowed her brow in confusion. "Are you certain?"

T'Pol looked slightly irritated – about as irritated as the Vulcan could look. She turned to look at Kamea with an icy glare of which Archer was glad he was not on the receiving end. "I know how to read the scanners."

Kamea didn't even flinch. "I was not questioning your ability to do your job. I was merely suggesting that perhaps the equipment is malfunctioning."

"The scanners are fine," said Trip. "I double-checked them myself."

"If you're detecting technology down there, it isn't coming from the Altarans. They don't have the ability to construct anything more technologically advanced than a thatch hut." She and Malcolm exchanged a look, eyebrows raised. "Could be something else."

Malcolm nodded absently. "The interference could be someone jamming our signals. Someone should go check it out." Archer could detect a hint of anticipation in his voice and could only tell from his suggestion that he believed he should be the one to do so. "I can get a team together in five minutes, Captain. Just say the word."

Archer wandered over to the monitors and examined what little information they had. It wouldn't be wise to send an entire team down to the planet without first knowing what they were up against. If T'Pol was unable to get a reading, it was logical to assume that whoever was down there didn't want to be found. It would probably be better to send down a few people – a small away team – to take stock of the situation. If the Altarans needed their help, _Enterprise_ would be better equipped to deal with the threat if Archer only knew what was going on. He agreed with Malcolm that he should send someone, but who to send?

"Sir?" Malcolm asked.

Archer whirled abruptly to look at his tactical officer. "We should send someone, Malcolm, but not an entire team. Not until we know what we're facing." He looked around the ready room, trying to determine whom to send. "I think it's best if we only send down a few people at the moment." He looked at Trip. "Trip, prep Shuttle Pod Two."

Trip coughed uncertainly. "Um, Captain? I don't have the greatest luck when it comes to away missions."

Archer suppressed a smile, remembering the particularly nasty mission on which Trip became the first male to ever become pregnant. Trip had never been able to live it down. Then, of course, there was their ordeal in the desert and the debacle at the trellium mining complex while in the expanse. No, Trip really did have abysmal luck. "I know, Trip. Just ready the shuttle pod."

Trip nodded briefly and left the ready room. Archer turned to T'Pol. "You should probably go down. You're the logical choice to interpret whatever data you may obtain."

T'Pol nodded. "Agreed, Captain."

"Hoshi," Archer said, turning to face his communications officer, "you'll go with T'Pol. We may run into the Altarans, and I'll need you to translate."

Hoshi could barely hide her grin. She loved the opportunity to learn a new language, and she was already jabbering excitedly as she and T'Pol exited the ready room.

Archer turned to Malcolm. "Malcolm, feel up for a challenge?"

Malcolm's eyes gleamed. "Always, sir."

Archer glanced back and forth between Travis and Kamea. One more in the landing party would make it an even four, so the group could split in half to cover more ground. He turned back to Malcolm and jerked his head at Kamea. "And take the human encyclopedia with you."

Kamea and Malcolm both looked at Archer in shock, then at each other, then back at Archer. "Captain," Kamea said, "I don't – "

"Captain," said Malcolm, scrambling towards him, "it's not in my nature to question your judgment, but I don't think it's wise to send a civilian on a mission like this."

"Are you implying that I am incapable of performing this mission?" Kamea asked as she appeared at Archer's other elbow, her eyes narrowed at Malcolm.

Malcolm shook his head. "Not at all. I just don't think it's wise to send a civilian on a military mission. I may not be able to protect you if we run into trouble."

Kamea's nostrils flared. "I don't need your protection."

Malcolm leaned forward and lowered his voice, though only Travis and Archer remained in the ready room. "And what about your insomnia? What if you faint while down on the surface of the planet? We aren't able to get accurate readings. Phlox might not be able to get to you."

"I am fine," Kamea said through clenched teeth. "The captain obviously believes I'm capable, or he wouldn't have asked me to go."

Tired of their bickering, which reminded him strongly of Trip and T'Pol, Archer loudly cleared his throat, and Malcolm and Kamea both glanced at him. He gestured to Kamea. "Kamea is the only person on this ship who has ever been on that planet. She knows the natives, which could work to our advantage." He gestured to Malcolm. "Malcolm is the head of security. If we need to organize an attack or a rescue, it would be best if he were the one to do so." He put his hands on both of their shoulders, which made Kamea flinch, if only slightly. "All four of you have a purpose down there, and I will not tolerate such juvenile behavior."

Some of the fire faded from Kamea's eyes as she looked at Archer. "To be fair, I'm only a teenager by Vulcan standards."

Archer tried not to smile. Malcolm did not look amused. Archer cleared his throat again. "I want you two to go get ready. The shuttle pod leaves in two hours."


	4. Worst Away Mission Ever

**Chapter Four: Worst Away Mission Ever**

The mood in the launch bay was subdued when Kamea arrived. Trip was still preparing the shuttle pod for takeoff, with T'Pol's assistance. Hoshi was pacing impatiently off to the side, mumbling to herself in what sounded suspiciously like Klingon. Malcolm had not yet arrived.

Kamea's stomach gurgled, reminding her that if she continued down that line of thinking, she was headed for another ulcer. She knew she had overreacted back in the captain's ready room when Malcolm protested her assignment to the mission. She actually didn't want to go – Altara held a lot of unpleasant memories for her – but the fact that Malcolm was implying that she was incapable of completing the mission was highly insulting, especially his insinuation that she would need him to protect her. Now she wanted to go just to prove that she could do it – not only to Malcolm, but also to the captain and the rest of the crew.

Why did she still feel the need to prove herself? Most of the crew had begun to accept her as one of their own, particularly the engineering staff, but a few of the crewmembers continued to talk about her behind her back, under the incredibly mistaken impression that she couldn't hear what they were saying. She never said anything about it, but she knew that Rostov – and possibly Kelby – had approached the captain and informed him of the situation.

That was all she needed – to be rescued by the captain. It was the adult equivalent of being rescued by the teacher. Or her mother, God forbid. Well, she had endured the taunts in high school and she could get through this. She would do well on this mission and prove to everyone that she belonged not just on _Enterprise_ but among humans in general.

Trip and T'Pol finished whatever they were doing as Kamea was stowing her gear in the shuttle pod, but they continued to converse quietly among themselves. Kamea cocked an eyebrow but said nothing. She wondered if T'Pol had told Trip about the bond, but judging from the fact that Trip had seemed perfectly normal lately, she guessed not. She hated keeping a secret like that; Trip had a right to know that he and T'Pol were bonded, but that damn Vulcan stubbornness had T'Pol refusing to tell him. She seemed to think it was for the best, but anything that kept two people apart who were obviously in love was not for the best.

Of course, T'Pol was married. So maybe it was for the best – for the moment. But if T'Pol felt it necessary to meddle in Kamea's business, than Kamea considered it only fair to be able to meddle in hers. And meddle she would, when she was feeling up to it.

Kamea glanced over at Trip and T'Pol and saw that T'Pol was walking towards her. She looked around for Trip, but he was nowhere in sight.

"Kamea," T'Pol said, stopping directly in front of her and clasping her hands behind her back, "is there anything we should know about this planet before we descend?"

"Well," Kamea said, continuing to look for Trip, "as it's more than eighty percent water, I should warn you that the ground is really marshy. If you're not careful, you could sink into the mud."

T'Pol cleared her throat, and Kamea looked at her. "Am I keeping you from something, Kamea?"

Kamea pursed her lips, sensing that she had upset her cousin. Her face dissolved into what she hoped was a convincing smile, and she shook her head. "Nope. I was just checking to see if we were all here." She paused, chewing on her bottom lip. Malcolm was conspicuously absent. "We're not."

"Is there anything else?" The tone of T'Pol's voice made it clear that she thought there was something else, and Kamea simply wasn't telling them. She raised her eyebrows and waited for Kamea to continue.

Kamea shrugged sheepishly. "Not really."

T'Pol made a noise in the back of her throat. "What about the native population?"

"Oh," Kamea said. She'd completely forgotten. "The Altarans are cool. No worries."

Malcolm chose that moment to arrive, and even though Kamea was furious with him, she couldn't help but be grateful. T'Pol looked mad enough to spit nails. T'Pol leveled one last glare at Kamea and then motioned that everyone should gather around her. Kamea was, of course, already standing by her. Hoshi stopped her incessant pacing and wandered over, and Malcolm hovered in the door to the shuttle pod.

"We are to split into two teams," T'Pol said. "Ensign Sato will come with me. Kamea," she said, looking directly at Kamea, "you will go with Lieutenant Reed."

Kamea exhaled sharply through her nose but nodded. She had expected that. She chanced a glance at Malcolm and saw that he was stubbornly refusing to meet her gaze. She rolled her eyes and returned her attention to T'Pol. If he wanted to be immature, she could play that game.

"Our first priority is to determine the species of the biosigns we detected," said T'Pol. Kamea kept her mouth shut, not anxious to upset T'Pol by interrupting, but she already knew the species of the biosigns. "After we have done so, we will attempt to locate the source of the interference. If it is natural, we have nothing to worry about."

"And if it's not?" Hoshi asked. There was a note of fear in her voice. Kamea looked over at her.

T'Pol never missed a beat. "We will deal with that if necessary." She gestured to Trip, who had suddenly reappeared. "Commander Tucker will take us down to the surface. Once there, we will establish a time to rendezvous back at the landing coordinates and return to _Enterprise_." She began to walk back and forth in front of them. "As this planet is largely unexplored, any information you collect will be satisfactory. Try to learn as much about the ecosystem and the planet's inhabitants as possible before we rendezvous."

This continued for some time and ended with T'Pol handing each of them a hand-held scanner and a phase pistol, which Malcolm promptly removed from Kamea's hand. She opened her mouth to yell at him, but Trip intervened, stepping between the two of them to prevent her from retaliating. Once T'Pol had finished, everyone climbed into the shuttle pod. Kamea immediately claimed a spot up front, next to Trip, much to T'Pol's apparent dismay, and though Kamea did not want to incur the wrath of her cousin, the alternative was not acceptable. Besides, if she sat in the co-pilot's seat, she could learn how to fly the shuttle pod. One never knew when such information would come in handy.

Trip went through the necessary pre-flight activities. As soon as they were clear for departure, he turned to Kamea. "So, your first away mission," he said, grinning. "How d'you feel?"

An accurate description of how she felt would take days. She settled for dropping her head into her hands and saying, "Bloody hell."

Trip chuckled and pulled back on the controls, easing the shuttle pod out of the launch bay and into open space. "You're hanging around Malcolm too much."

* * *

Hoshi had never been on an away mission with this level of tension. It permeated the shuttle pod, making for a very uncomfortable trip to the surface. All of Hoshi's attempts at conversation had been shot down with a warning glare from one of the other four occupants. She knew the reason that Malcolm and Kamea were in such foul moods – Travis had relayed the news of their argument in the captain's ready room – but she had no idea why Trip and T'Pol were being so snarky. Though, if she had to venture a guess, she would bet that it had something to do with Kamea. 

Hoshi liked Kamea, but she knew why T'Pol had such a problem with her. T'Pol felt threatened by Kamea's presence. Kamea had come aboard _Enterprise_ and almost effortlessly finagled her way into Commander Tucker's good graces. Of course it would rub T'Pol the wrong way, when she so clearly had feelings for the commander, that Trip got along so well with Kamea.

But T'Pol didn't have anything to worry about. Kamea had mentioned on more than one occasion that Commander Tucker was like the older brother she'd never had. _"Which is weird,"_ she would always say, _"since I'm almost twice his age."_ Besides, Kamea liked Malcolm. That much was obvious.

The trip took less than thirty minutes. Trip set the pod down in a rare clearing, and T'Pol opened the shuttle pod door. Hoshi took one glance outside and immediately felt like she was home.

The single land mass on Altara was a gigantic rainforest. The ground was marshy and muddy, quite unlike the ground in Brazil, but there was nothing but trees as far as the eye could see. They even looked like the trees on Earth – but the trunks were thicker, the branches more gnarled than those of the Brazilian rainforest. The sky was barely visible through the thick canopy of leaves, and though Hoshi knew that the planet's surface was primarily water, she could see none nearby.

"It's beautiful," she heard herself say.

"Bloody hell," came Malcolm's voice, and she turned around to find that Malcolm had sunk into the mud and, in attempting to pull his feet out of the muck, had lost one of his boots.

T'Pol was scanning the area with a perturbed look. After a few seconds, her brow furrowed even further, and she put away her scanner. "The interference is not being caused by the atmosphere. The readings are no more accurate here than they are on _Enterprise._"

Trip nodded his head thoughtfully. "I'll try the sensors in the pod." He climbed into the shuttle pod and presumably sat down in the pilot's chair. His voice carried out into the forest. "Maybe your scanner just isn't powerful enough to penetrate."

Kamea giggled, and when Hoshi looked at her, she winked. "Sorry," she said. "Sleep deprivation. Makes everything funny."

Hoshi rotated slowly on the spot, taking in the breathtaking view. She was still edgy about away missions; she never seemed to have a calm, relaxing one, but so far this one wasn't all that bad – except for the massive tension. She looked back at Kamea. "Is the whole planet like this?"

"Pretty much," Kamea said, nodding. "Remind you of home?"

Hoshi stared at Kamea in shock. "How did you know where I'm from?"

Kamea shrugged halfheartedly. "I do my research."

Trip poked his head out of the shuttle pod. "You're right, T'Pol. Something else is causing the interference."

Malcolm walked over to them, careful not to get his feet caught in the mud again. "Someone could be jamming our frequencies."

"It isn't the Altarans," Kamea said. "They don't have the technology to do something like that."

"Does anyone else live here?" Trip asked.

Kamea shook her head. "There's no one else in this system. Altara's the only inhabited planet for light-years." She paused, placing her hands on her hips. "Of course, that isn't to say that someone else didn't stumble across this planet and decide to set up camp here for a while."

"But who else even knows about this place?" Hoshi asked, confused. "According to T'Pol, there's no reported contact – "

"If it's in the Vulcan database," said Kamea, "other species are probably aware of it as well. You can never be too careful."

Trip looked at T'Pol, who had been uncharacteristically silent during the discussion. "What do you want to do?"

T'Pol folded her arms across her chest and looked at Trip. "We will do what the captain asked us to do, but we will not stay as long as originally planned. Commander, you will wait here with the shuttle pod. Ensign Sato and I will head east. Lieutenant Reed and Kamea, you go west. We will attempt to locate the source of the interference, but if we are unable to do so by the designated time, we will rendezvous back here and return to _Enterprise_. If there is someone else here, it would not be wise to spend the night."

They agreed to rendezvous back at the pod in a few hours, which wouldn't give them much time to search. But Hoshi didn't want to be on a planet with a potentially hostile and unknown alien race, so she didn't argue with T'Pol's plan.

"I'll try and get a message to _Enterprise_," said Trip, once again disappearing into the shuttle pod. "Maybe our communications aren't affected."

"You have your orders, Lieutenant," T'Pol said to Malcolm, who nodded, though he did not look pleased.

As Malcolm and Kamea disappeared into the woods off to Hoshi's left, she had the sudden fear that they would kill each other. She hoped that she was wrong.

* * *

Malcolm gritted his teeth. This was already turning out to be the worst away mission he had ever been on – including that one where he, Hoshi, and the captain had caught some alien virus that had altered their DNA – and it had barely started. Thankfully it would only last another few hours. 

Kamea was angry with him, and neither had spoken since leaving the landing site. They hadn't spoken to each other since their argument in the captain's ready room. And now she was walking at a brisk pace, seemingly not caring whether or not they were discovered by whomever was jamming their sensors, given the amount of noise she was making as she trudged her way down the barely visible trail through the forest.

So far, that was all they'd encountered – lots of forest. Trees, mud, long grasses – there was nothing else on this planet. It was layered with a heavy fog, as well. The farther they walked, the thicker the fog became. It soaked his clothing through and – with no sun to dry him – made it seem colder than it really was. He held his scanner out at arm's length, but due to the interference had not found anything more interesting than a species of frog, which he had quickly left behind.

He glanced up at Kamea, who continued to walk approximately twenty paces ahead of him. He hadn't meant to upset her, but he had to say something. He could barely control himself on _Enterprise_. With the two of them practically alone on an away mission – on a sparsely populated planet, no less – he was positive that he would be unable to resist the temptation to act on his physical attraction to her, however inappropriate it may be.

But his attraction was currently waning, as the last time Kamea had even looked at him, he was afraid she was going to kill him. She could do that, too. He'd seen what she'd done to that punching bag; she hadn't even blinked as it had exploded. Normally Malcolm liked explosions, but not if he was going to be the thing exploding. At least he'd taken her weapon away, so she couldn't shoot him.

"Do you always walk so quickly?" he asked, desperate to say something. The silence was unnerving. "Or so noisily?"

She didn't bother to look back at him. "When I have a purpose."

He didn't like the edge in her voice. "And that would be…?"

This time she did turn. Her eyes were cold and hard, and he was beginning to wish he'd never agreed to come. He was hydrophobic, and he was on a planet that was ninety percent water. What the hell had been thinking?

"Getting away from you, Lieutenant."

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I don't suppose it would help if I apologized."

"No," she said, turning back around and continuing to storm through the marsh. "I don't suppose it would."

Malcolm sighed and struggled to keep up. What was it about the two of them together that made them act like children? He was British – Brits didn't have immature arguments. But every time they fought, it was like he was back in grade school. "Look," he said, trying to walk fast without allowing his boots to sink into the muck, "we're going to have to work together if we're going to find out what's going on."

He looked around, feeling suddenly claustrophobic. The trees grew so close together that at times he could only see a wall of tree trunks. "Where are we going?"

She glanced at him, and he noticed that her eyes had softened somewhat. She nodded at the trail ahead. "The Altarans' village is that way. Maybe they know what's going on."

They walked on in silence, but it wasn't quite as deafening as it had been earlier. The tension between the two of them had eased somewhat. Malcolm continued to scan, even though he knew the readings would be inaccurate, simply because he needed something to do. Kamea ambled along beside him, seemingly staring off into space but presumably leading them to this fabled village, which no one in the universe seemed to be aware of save her.

"I don't appreciate being treated like a child," she said. She met his gaze, and he was surprised at the hurt in her eyes. "I'm older than you, you know. I don't like being patronized."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "That wasn't my intention."

Kamea's eyes narrowed, but there was very little anger in them. It was still mostly hurt. "You implied that I was unsuitable for this mission."

"I didn't say that," Malcolm said, feeling his frustration return. She was putting words into his mouth and had completely misinterpreted him. "I just – " He struggled to think of a lie, because he could not tell her the truth. "I'm just used to a certain amount of protocol. Civilians should not be present on away missions. There are too many risks involved. Something could go seriously wrong."

Her expression warmed slightly. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm sure I've made it evident that I'm capable of handling myself."

She had. If their late-night spars hadn't made that perfectly clear, the way she dealt with the Ferengi had. She could definitely hold her own, but it was a risk she didn't have to take, as she was not an official member of _Enterprise_. "You have. I just feel responsible for everyone on the ship. It's my job to protect them. When something happens, if someone gets hurt, I blame myself. It's who I am."

Kamea stopped walking and stared at him, and for a moment he was convinced that she knew he was lying. But unless he was mistaken, there were tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I overreacted." She took a deep breath. "I just thought… I thought there was something…"

She trailed off, suddenly looking in the direction they had just come. Her ears perked and searched for the source of the sound, reminding him strongly of a cat. Her nostrils flared; she appeared to be smelling the air. She looked around cautiously, then reached out to touch him gently on the chest, as if to reassure herself that he was still there.

The simple contact was jarring, but Malcolm immediately became worried. "You hear something?" he asked, readying his phase pistol.

She shook her head, her eyes wide with fear. He didn't think had ever seen a Vulcan look afraid. It scared him. "I smell death here."

Malcolm shuddered involuntarily, then took her by the hand and led her off the trail, into the forest. They dodged behind trees, trying to avoid being seen. Well, he dodged, pulling her along with him. They had gone several dozen meters when Kamea planted her firmly in the mud.

"If there were anyone around," she said, "I'd sense them. But something is not right. I can feel it in the air."

He watched in fascination as Kamea knelt down and ran her hand along the ground, just above the top of the grass, as if she were feeling something out. She cocked her head to the side, so that it was parallel to the ground, staring at the mud, like she was expecting it to tell her something. Then she let her head fall back so that was gazing up into the canopy. Her ears continued to move – he had never seen anything like it.

She looked up at him. "Something has happened."

He furrowed his brow in confusion. How the hell could she possibly know? "What?"

She stood up and jerked her head over her shoulder. "We have to get to the village. Something's wrong." With that, she turned around and darted down the trail.

Wordlessly, he followed.

* * *

Captain Archer continued to pace the area in front of his chair. Four members of his senior staff were on the surface of a planet about which they knew nothing, and he was unable to contact them. According to Ensign Harris, who had taken Hoshi's post, there had been several unknown spikes, which she believed was the shuttle pod attempting to send a message. Whatever the interference was, it prevented communication. 

He didn't want to think of all the things that could go wrong. Had something happened to the shuttle pod? If something had happened, there was nothing _Enterprise_ could do about it. Should they send down another team in Shuttle Pod One and hope that they could locate the others? Was it even necessary? They had no reason to believe that the away team was in any kind of danger – other than the mysterious interference and the lack of communications.

Archer glanced up at the sound of Travis's voice. "Is that part of the floor lower than the rest of it?" asked Travis. He had turned in his seat to face the captain.

"What?" Archer asked. Had the boomer been attempt to talk to him and Archer had been lost in his own thoughts? What kind of captain was he if he couldn't focus?

"It's just, people are always pacing there," Travis said with a shrug. "I'm surprised there isn't a hole."

Archer narrowed his eyes, and Travis smiled sheepishly. "Okay," the boomer said. "Wrong time to try that joke."

"Sir," said Harris, "we're being hailed."

He looked at her. "The away team?"

Harris shook her head. "No, sir. The message is in Andorian."

* * *

**A/N: "Snarky", for those who aren't familiar with the term, means "pissy", "snippy", "crabby". Things like that. I don't know if that's a common word or if we just use it here in central PA, so I thought I'd include a definition.**

**Hee hee hee. Trip said "penetrate".**

**Life is very hectic for me at the moment, as I'm currently working full-time at the bank while I'm being trained, and whoever coined the term "banker's hours" obviously never worked in a modern bank, because I swear I'm there all the time, so I apologize if the updates take longer than I had originally stipulated. Last night I didn't get home until 7:30, and I had to go in this morning at 8:15. I am trying my very best, but sadly the story is not yet finished, though I do have up through chapter 7 and most of chapter 8 written, and I'm only planning on it being 9 or 10 chapters, so it almost done but not completely and for the next two and a half weeks I'm at the mercy of my trainer -- who is cute, but married. Unfortunately.**

**Reviews make me very happy. People who don't review make me and puppies sad. And you don't want to make puppies sad, do you?**


	5. Secrets

**A/N: This chapter is a little more violent, so parental discretion is advised. Don't say I didn't warn you.**

**Okay. It's not really violent per se, but it's not exactly what I'd call pleasant.**

**Reviews are always appreciated. There are still a good many sad puppies out there.**

* * *

**Chapter Five: Secrets**

Archer could only stare at Harris. "Andorians?" he asked. It made absolutely no sense. What were Andorians doing this far out into space, and why were they contacting him? He wondered momentarily if it were Shran, but if it were, the Andorian commander would have identified himself on the message. "What do they want?"

Harris moved her fingers swiftly across the console, waited a beat, then turned back to the captain. "They want to talk to you."

Archer furrowed his brow. He wished that T'Pol were there to give him advice. He could use a second opinion. But what harm could it do to see what they wanted? He nodded to Harris. "On screen."

The Andorian that appeared on the view screen looked nothing like Shran. Obviously, he had the blue skin and antennae characteristic of all Andorians, but his hair was slightly darker, his body built shorter and stockier, and Archer could tell from the man's expression that he had absolutely no sense of humor.

_Perfect,_ he thought. _The Andorian equivalent of Ambassador Soval. Just what I needed right now._

The Andorian language was already programmed into the universal translator, so when the Andorian spoke, Archer could understand what he was saying. "You are the captain of this vessel?" he asked.

"I'm Jonathan Archer, captain of the starship _Enterprise _– an Earth vessel." The statement was purely habitual at this point.

"I am called Akkenar," said the Andorian.

There was a moment of silence, during which Archer expected Akkenar to elaborate, but when the Andorian said nothing, Archer asked, "What is it that you want?" He was unsure whether or not to address him as "captain", since the Andorian had not indicated that he was the captain of the ship.

Akkenar drew his head back and straightened in his chair, making him seem taller. Though not by much. "I believe you have something that belongs to me."

Archer cocked an eyebrow. "That's news to me," he said with a chuckle.

Akkenar did not look amused, confirming Archer's assumption that the man had no sense of humor. "We have been scanning for our missing property for quite some time, and we have reason to believe that it is located on your ship."

"Captain," Archer said, growing angry now and not really caring whether or not he addressed him incorrectly, "I can assure you that we have not taken your property."

"I'll be the judge of that," said Akkenar. "I would like to come aboard your ship and conduct a search myself."

Now Archer really wished Trip and T'Pol were on _Enterprise_ – or at least that he could talk to them. He didn't like this at all, but what choice did he have? According to T'Pol, Andorians were an extremely volatile race. If he refused Akkenar's request – demand was more like it – it was quite possible that they would open fire on _Enterprise_, and the last thing Archer wanted at the moment was a firefight. Without his chief engineer and his tactical officer, attempting to engage the Andorians in battle would be suicide. Perhaps their best option was to allow Akkenar to conduct his search. When he did not find his property, he would leave – hopefully.

"Very well," Archer said. "If it's what I have to do to prove that we don't have your property, then I will allow you to come aboard."

Akkenar nodded solemnly. "Very good, Captain." He turned around to address his invisible crew. "Begin docking procedures."

Archer almost suggested using the transporter, but he refrained. He wasn't sure how much of the incident at P'Jem Shran had relayed to the rest of his species, and if knowledge of the transporter was still unknown, Archer intended to keep it that way. They may still need to use it.

"Travis," Archer said, turning on his heel and marching off the bridge, "you have the bridge."

He grabbed a couple members of Malcolm's security team and proceeded to docking port A to meet Akkenar. When the Andorian appeared, Archer had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Akkenar's clothes were completely different from anything he had ever seen Shran wear – they were purple robes made of some kind of thick, velvety material and lined with what looked like fur. Akkenar himself was a good head shorter than Archer and fairly heavyset. His hands were resting on his generous belly, and he looked like an Andorian Santa Claus.

The Andorians that followed behind Akkenar looked more like the ones Archer had encountered before. They were tall and thin, wearing the same uniforms that Shran and his crew wore. There were at least half a dozen of them.

"Captain Archer," Akkenar said, bowing his head slightly. "Thank you for your cooperation. This will not take long."

Akkenar gestured at one of his bodyguards, who stepped forward, holding what appeared to be a hand scanner at arm's length. "This is Selak," Akkenar said. "He is my chief medical officer."

Selak nodded at Archer as he was introduced, but said nothing. He led the way through the corridors, with Akkenar close on his heels. Archer followed Akkenar, and the security team and remaining Andorians brought up the rear.

For a while, the beeping of the scanner was the only noise, but Archer could take the silence no longer. "May I ask what it is you think we have?"

"An abomination," said Akkenar. "Something that should not even have been created. It is our responsibility to destroy it."

Curious as to what it could be, Archer waited for Akkenar to elaborate, but once again, the Andorian did not. They lapsed into silence once more, broken only by the beeping of the scanner as they continued their way through the ship.

"If you're only going to destroy it," said Archer, intrigued in spite of himself, "then why is it so important if we have it?"

Akkenar looked at him seriously. "This abomination is against nature. Those responsible for its creation have been dispatched. We tried to dispose of it many years ago but were unable to do so. We had hoped that others would not learn of its existence. It has contaminated many planets."

Now Archer was worried. Had they unknowingly let some horrible alien creation onto _Enterprise_? But he couldn't even think of when such a thing would have occurred. Altara was the first planet they had been to in months, and the only things they had brought back from Bulzama were the plants on which Phlox was currently conducting experiments – nothing that seemed manufactured or dangerous in any way. "Is my crew in any danger?"

"If the abomination is on board, you may very well be." Akkenar sounded so grim that Archer could not help but believe him.

They made their way through the ship, with Selak scanning on every deck. There was very little conversation, only the beeping of the scanner to break the silence. The deeper into the ship they went, the more Archer became convinced that Akkenar had been mistaken. Whatever they were searching for, it obviously wasn't on board _Enterprise_.

"Sir," Selak said, once they had arrived in the very bowels of the ship. "It isn't here, sir."

Akkenar looked furious. "You assured me that it was here."

"It would appear that I have been mistaken," said Selak. He sounded fearful. "If it were on board, the scanner would have detected it." Selak cast a brief glance at Archer before returning his attention to Akkenar. "Perhaps I should scan the surface of the planet, sir?"

Akkenar grunted in response. Selak fiddled with some of the controls on the scanner, and the beeping resumed. Akkenar turned to Archer. "What have you done with it?" he asked, his voice a growl.

Archer narrowed his eyes. Convinced that they had never been in possession of whatever Akkenar thought they had, he was now angered by the insinuation that they had stolen it. "Now, wait a minute. I've been extremely cooperative throughout this whole mess. And now your officer has told you that we don't have your property, and you continue to accuse me of – "

"It was here," said Akkenar, in the same growl as before. "I know it was here. What have you done with it? What have you done with the half-breed?"

Archer's blood suddenly went cold. _Half-breed?_ he thought. _He couldn't mean Kamea. Could he?_ He ran through his and Akkenar's conversation. He had claimed that those responsible for its creation had been dispatched. Hadn't Kamea's parents been responsible? Kamea had never revealed what had happened to her parents – not to anyone; she'd only said that they had died and left it at that. And she had never given a reason as to why she had left Earth so abruptly – or why she had never returned. Was it possible that these Andorians had been chasing Kamea for nearly eight years, and that was why she never stayed in one place too long, and why she whispered "danger" in her sleep?

He knew he should have forced her to talk the moment she was conscious that first day in sickbay. He'd been thinking about it ever since their encounter with the Ferengi weeks ago, after she admitted to having had a run in with them before. He'd been afraid that some of her old friends would return.

Something else suddenly occurred to Archer. Selak was apparently having no problems scanning the surface of the planet, even though _Enterprise_ was unable to get a clear reading. The interference T'Pol had originally believed was due to the atmosphere was obviously the Andorians jamming their signals. For if _Enterprise_ could not send communications, they could not call for help; they could not alert anyone to the presence of the Andorians.

"Sir?" Selak said, sounding excited. "I've found it, sir."

A lead ball dropped into Archer's stomach. Kamea was in danger. And if Kamea was in danger, then the entire away team was also in danger. Most of his senior staff were down there, including his best friend. He had to warn them somehow.

"Well," Akkenar said, after having looked at the readings on Selak's scanner, "I have wasted too much of your time, Captain. I will take my leave now, and reclaim what is rightfully mine."

Arhcer opened his mouth, intent on ordering the security team to subdue them, but before he could speak, the half a dozen bodyguards had leveled their weapons at Archer and the security guys. Greatly outnumbered, an unable to defend himself, Archer had no choice but to let them go.

* * *

Trip couldn't remember a time when he had been more bored. Well, there was that time when he was visiting the Xyrillian ship, and he'd had to stay in the decompression chamber for a good twelve hours. But somehow, perhaps because it was so long ago, this trumped that. He sat in the pilot's chair of the shuttle pod, basically examining his fingers. He couldn't raise _Enterprise_, he couldn't contact the other members of the away team, and he couldn't leave the shuttle pod to do his own exploring, in case the others came back early. 

He wished he'd brought something with him, but as he hadn't been anticipating having to stay planet side, the thought had not occurred to him. So he entertained himself by trying to recite all the lines from _The Godfather_, and he was probably about halfway through Connie's baby's christening when T'Pol and Hoshi returned from their search.

"Hey," he said, coming out of the shuttle pod to greet them. Hoshi smiled at him, and T'Pol inclined her head. "Find anything?"

T'Pol shook her head. "No. Whatever is causing the interference, it does not seem to be coming from the surface."

Hoshi wandered off, probably examining the clearing. Trip had already memorized every blade of grass, what with all the time he'd spent here. He looked at T'Pol. "Is it natural?"

She cocked her head to the side. "I'm not certain. Without any information, I cannot infer a conclusive answer." She gave a small sigh. "It is highly irritating."

Trip lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Ah, maybe we're just caught in a solar flare or an ionic storm or something."

T'Pol nodded thoughtfully. "We can't rule out anything at this point in time." She paused, her eyes darting about the clearing. When they settled back on him, she asked, "I trust you were able to keep yourself amused?"

He snorted. "Yeah, sure. I'm going to start carrying a book everywhere I go."

Hoshi appeared from around the corner of the shuttle pod, glancing around her. "Aren't Kamea and Malcolm back yet?"

"No," Trip said, shaking his head.

"They should be back by now," Hoshi said, her voice filled with concern. "Shouldn't they?"

He glanced at his watch. "We're not supposed to rendezvous for another twenty minutes. They're probably on their way back right now."

Hoshi did not look convinced. "Malcolm's always early. I thought he'd be back before us. Should we go look for them?"

Trip laid a hand on Hoshi's shoulder. "Don't jump the gun just yet, Hoshi. They still have twenty minutes. Give them time. I'm sure everything's fine."

* * *

The farther down the trail they went, the more concerned Kamea became. She couldn't sense anything. The village was just ahead, and she couldn't sense any of its inhabitants. She could smell death everywhere, and she couldn't sense anyone. There wasn't even the tiniest blip in the back of her head to suggest that they were still alive. Clearly something had happened, but what? 

She increased her pace, practically running through the muck. She heard Malcolm behind her and knew that he was confused, but she couldn't stop to explain anything now. She had to get to the village.

As she entered the clearing, her heart momentarily stopped beating. Where the village should have been, there was nothing. The thatch huts had been reduced to cinders; some of the foundations were still smoking. Kamea's heart pounded in her ears. This had obviously been the scene of a massive battle. The fence, which ran the perimeter of the village, had been destroyed – crushed – in more than one place, as though an army had just crashed through it. The entire clearing reeked of death and decay. Kamea could almost taste the blood in the air. It made the bile rise in her throat.

Malcolm slowed to a stop directly behind her, and though she couldn't see his expression, she had a pretty good idea what it looked like. He hovered at her shoulder, his breathing heavy. "Bloody hell," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "What in God's name happened here?"

Against her better judgment, Kamea inched closer to the village. Every impulse she possessed was telling her to run, but her body refused to obey. She had to know what had happened. The stench was overpowering. Kamea had to cover her nose with her hand, and still it seeped through her fingers. Bodies were strewn about; some lay draped over the fence. Some were still lying where they had been killed. And, Kamea realized with horror, some had been nailed to nearby trees. Their four arms splayed in all directions – it looked as though their arms had been broken, some in more than one place. Their eyes were glassy, frozen open in fear. Their mouths were stuck in eternal screams. Kamea had never seen anything quite so horrific.

"Who would do this?" Malcolm asked. Kamea couldn't bring herself to turn around and look at him, but she could tell what he was thinking nonetheless. The revulsion he felt at what he was seeing was evident in the tone of his voice. "You said they don't even have weapons."

"They don't," she said. Her eyes remained riveted on the bodies that lay in front of her; she was unable to look away. "They didn't."

"This is recent," Malcolm said. She could hear him begin to move, picking his way through the debris. "The embers of the fires are still glowing. Whoever did this, they may still be on the surface." His breath hitched. "We have to get back to the shuttle pod. We can't stay here."

Kamea couldn't argue with his reasoning, but her feet refused to move. She stood immobile, staring at the Altaran at her feet. She recognized him. His name was Gunthark, and he had been the one who had informed her of the existence of the pod in which she had escaped. Gunthark had been brutally beaten; his injuries seemed to be the most extensive of them all.

Malcolm appeared at her elbow. His hand on her arm jerked her out of her trance. "Kamea? We should go. Now."

She nodded mutely, her tongue thick in her mouth. She allowed Malcolm to grip her elbow and lead her toward the forest.

They were almost at the fence when her entire body seized up. Her muscles locked in place. Pain shot through her – her head felt as though it were about to explode. She closed her eyes against the pain, but her limbs were on fire. And beyond the pain there was something else, something far more intense – fear. Her stomach churned as the fear coursed through her body, and images flashed before her closed eyes.

_Fear. Things coming from the trees in all directions. No warning. Just thunder and lightning. Homes on fire. Life slipping away from the villagers. Everyone running in all directions, screaming, crying. No one spared – women, children, all slaughtered at the hands of those with the thunder. A glimpse of blue skin and antennae. Then darkness._

Kamea violently broke free of the images and collapsed to the ground, shaking. She emptied her stomach beside her, unable to move. Her muscles still ached; her head continued to throb. She could hear Malcolm calling to her, but she couldn't make out the words. His words sounded muffled and far away, as though he were somewhere else. It felt like she was trapped in some nether region, and the fog that clung to the surface did little to alleviate that notion.

The meaning behind the images hit her with incredible finality. Her fault. This was all her fault. The Andorians had done this – Akkenar and his crew. They had come searching for her and, for as yet unknown reasons, had wiped out the entire species. Had they staged the attack to flush her out? Or had they killed the Altarans for their refusal to help? Either way, this had happened because of her.

She was going to be sick again.

And she was. But she had at least managed to crawl several feet away from the first spot. Her stomach now empty, she could only heave, but when the nausea had passed, she crawled farther away and curled herself into a ball. The nausea she could deal with, but the guilt was overwhelming.

"Kamea?"

The sound of her name brought her slowly back from the brink, and she was dimly aware of someone scooping her up into his arms and carrying her outside the perimeter of the village. She burrowed her face into the crook of his neck and breathed in his scent.

Malcolm.

He continued to carry her down the trail, and as they left the village behind, her mind began to clear. The wave of nausea had passed, her head was no longer pounding, and her muscles were stiff but no longer hurt. But the guilt was still there.

"Malcolm?" she said, hardly recognizing her voice. It sounded so small, so fragile.

He looked at her but continued walking. "Yes?" His eyes were full of concern, and she was illogically flattered by the tenderness he was demonstrating, even though they were supposedly mad at each other.

She blinked dolefully and exhaled slowly. She could no longer keep this to herself. She had already endangered him and the rest of the crew by hiding this information, and now an entire species had been obliterated because she was being selfish. She loved being on _Enterprise_, and she'd feared that if Captain Archer and the others knew the truth, they would have forced her to leave. So she'd kept it a secret, hoping that it wouldn't come back to bite her on the ass. And now it had caught up to her, and people's lives were in danger. Well, it was about to stop. This was not the kind of person she was.

She lost herself in the deep blue of his eyes, but somehow managed to say, "I have to tell you something."


	6. No Way Out

**A/N: _Makua hine_ – mother  
_Ek'es-ashaya_ – unconditional love**  
**_Yaut_ – proud  
****_Vokau_ – "remember"; the ritual word that is used in transferring the _katra_ (soul) of one who is dying to the keeper (à la "The Forge" and _Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan_)**

**Some of you may recognize one of Kamea's lines from _Casablanca_. Rick says something similar to Ilsa. It's a good line. Thought I'd borrow it. Hope there are no objections.**

**This is going to be a very hectic week for me. I work every day including both today (Sunday) and Saturday, plus Tuesday I have to journey to take the GRE, and I am currently freaking out because I took a practice test the other day and realized that I can't even do basic math questions, as I haven't taken a math class in over 4 years. I'm trying to figure out a way to miniaturize my younger sister (who is a math major) and take her with me so she can do the math portion for me. I'll let you know how that goes. **

**In the meantime, please enjoy chapter six, and please continue to review! Reviews make me and puppies happy.**

**

* * *

Chapter Six: No Way Out **

As soon as the Andorians left _Enterprise_, Archer was in motion. Obviously, he had to warn the away team that they were in danger. This was easier said than done. The Andorians were evidently intent on jamming their transmissions until they had completed their agenda and captured Kamea, so by the time he was able to contact Trip and the others it would be too late.

Without Trip and T'Pol, he felt helpless. His two most trusted friends and officers were down on that planet, and he was up on _Enterprise_ flying blind. Without his two senior officers, and Malcolm and Hoshi, he had no one to which he could turn, no one to offer him advice. He was on his own. He had been on his own before, but for some reason this felt different. Because all those other times, he knew he could count on Trip and T'Pol to back him up if need be. Now, there would be no such luck. He was alone, and for the first time he could remember, he actually felt alone.

He raced to the transporter room, where Lieutenant Hess was doing routine maintenance. She was crouched near the floor but stood as soon as he entered the room. He glanced around quickly, unsure of what he was searching for. Hess looked genuinely confused at his actions.

"Lieutenant," he said, walking over to the controls and wishing he had learned how to use this damned machine, "we need to beam our people out of there. Now."

"I'm afraid that's impossible, sir," said Hess in a trembling voice.

Archer glared at her without meaning to. But he wanted to bring his people back safely, and at the moment, she was the only person on which to place blame for the current predicament, as the Andorians were not present. "What do you mean, it's impossible?"

Hess took a deep breath and straightened, apparently trying to gain the resolve necessary to continue the conversation. "Captain, sir, whatever the interference is, it's affecting everything on board. We can't get an accurate reading. We can't get a lock on any members of the away team, sir. It's just not possible."

Archer's hesitation lasted only a second. He stepped into the transporter. "Then beam me down there. We have to warn them."

"Sir," said Hess, her voice much stronger now, "I can't do that."

"You can, Lieutenant, and you will." He put on his sternest face and fixed her with a glare, the likes of which should have made her snap to attention.

But she didn't snap to attention. She didn't even blink. "No, sir," she said. "I can't. That planet is eighty-five percent water, sir. Without an accurate reading, I could drop you in the middle of a very big ocean. It's just too risky, sir."

"Damnit!" Archer said, and Hess jumped. "We have to get down there! What the hell am I supposed to do?"

Hess shook her head slowly. "I honestly don't know, Captain. But I can't in good conscience risk your life on something as risky as trying to transport you down there. There's got to be another way."

Archer groaned and stormed out of the transporter room. Deep down, he knew, of course, that it wasn't Hess's fault that the Andorians were jamming their sensors, but something had to be done – and soon. Akkenar and his crew seemed like they meant business, and if Archer couldn't warn his people of the danger, there was no telling what might happen.

He roamed the ship, barely paying attention to where he was going. He bumped into several crewmen but stomped off without apologizing. He wasn't quite sure where he was headed; all he knew was that he had to think of something, and fast. The Andorians could very well be on the planet's surface by now, and with their instruments functioning perfectly, they would have no problems locating Kamea – and whomever she happened to be with.

The answer came to him so suddenly that it almost knocked him over. He'd been considering the idea before, right after he learned that he was unable to contact the away team – the other shuttle pod. He would take Shuttle Pod One down to the surface and retrieve his people, hopefully before the Andorians found them. Given their current circumstances, it was the only viable option.

He lunged for the nearest companel. "Archer to Commander Kelby."

Kelby responded almost immediately. "Kelby here, sir."

"I need you to prep Shuttle Pod One as quickly as possible."

If Kelby was surprised by the order, it wasn't evident in his voice. "Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

Now the only question was who to take along. His first thought was Travis, as he was the most experienced pilot, but with Archer gone, the young ensign would be the sole remaining senior officer left onboard, and Archer preferred to have a member of his senior staff in command should something happen. So, unfortunately, Travis was out. His mind raced through the other possibilities as he made his way up to the bridge, but he was spread so thin that he could barely remember any of his crew's names.

He finally decided that Ensign Peters, Travis's relief, would fly the shuttle pod, and half a dozen MACOs would accompany him, should something go wrong. He would feel better taking MACOs instead of any of Malcolm's people because the MACOs had a different commanding officer and would not let emotion affect their actions. Travis would remain in command with specific instructions as to what he should do if something happened – though Archer prayed he would be able to locate his people before the Andorians did.

Archer went first to the bridge, where his orders to Travis were brief. The boomer appeared to be simultaneously excited at the prospect of taking command, concerned for the safety of the away team, and disappointed that he would not be permitted to participate in the rescue. How it was possible to exude all three emotions at the same time was a mystery to which Archer wished he had time to learn the answer. Archer left explicit instructions in the event that he and the others should not return, which basically consisted of getting the hell out of the system and contacting the nearest Vulcan ship for assistance. It was hardly a detailed plan, but Archer was more concerned with the safety of his crew than with his own personal welfare.

Kamea had said it herself. If it came down to her or the rest of _Enterprise_, don't pick her. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one, she had said, which he knew was one of Surak's sayings. Archer's first priority was to his crew; however, he also had crew down on the planet – people he had grown to care for very deeply, and he could not simply leave them to certain doom without at least attempting a rescue.

From the bridge, he called the others who were to be accompanying him and asked them to meet him in the launch bay as soon as humanly possible. By the time he reached the launch bay, the others were already there, and the shuttle pod was ready and waiting. He wasted no time explaining their mission, instead ordering everyone into the shuttle with the promise of describing the details on the way to the surface.

As they descended to the surface, Archer took absolutely no notice of the planet. He found it interesting that he had been so eager to come here, and now he was just as eager – if not more so – to leave. Perhaps they could return to Altara when the threat of the Andorians had disappeared. The shuttle dropped altitude rapidly, and in a matter of seconds Peters located a clearing that would suffice for a landing site.

"It seems to be the only clearing on the continent, sir," he said. "It's a good bet that's where Shuttle Pod Two is parked, too."

Archer nodded, though in truth he barely heard the ensign's report.

"Look, sir!" said one of the MACOs, a corporal whose name escaped Archer at the moment. He hated that; he liked to know the names of everyone who served on _Enterprise_, but with all the new recruits, it was becoming harder and harder to remember. "There's the other shuttle!"

He leaned over to look out the view port, and sure enough, there sat Shuttle Pod Two. Three figures stood outside of it, but from this height Archer was unable to tell who they were. He instructed Peters to land as close to it as possible. The shuttle touched down about a hundred yards from the other one, and as soon as it was on the ground, Archer was out the door.

Trip, T'Pol, and Hoshi had apparently been in the middle of a heated discussion, but the arrival of the second shuttle pod had obviously ended whatever argument they were having. The three of them looked surprised to see Archer and the others, especially the half a dozen heavily armed MACOs.

"Captain," Trip said, rubbing the back of his neck, "what are you doing here?"

A quick glance around the clearing revealed that Malcolm and Kamea were still missing. Archer ignored his friend's question and instead asked, "Where are the others?"

"We don't know, sir," said Hoshi, "We were just discussing whether or not we should go look for them."

T'Pol nodded and clasped her hands behind her back. "Our appointed rendezvous time has long passed, Captain, and Kamea and Lieutenant Reed have failed to return. Ensign Sato is worried that something may have happened, while Commander Tucker believes that they have merely lost track of the time."

Hoshi huffed. "And I told Commander Tucker that Mal – Lieutenant Reed is such a stickler for the rules that he would have definitely been back on time. In fact, he should have been half an hour early."

"And I," Trip said, sounding indignant, "told Hoshi that we have no reason to worry, because we would have heard another ship approaching. It's not exactly like there's all that many places to land on this godforsaken planet."

T'Pol cocked an eyebrow. "Is something wrong, Captain? What are you doing here?"

Trip crossed his arms and gestured at the MACOs with his head. "You know something we don't?"

Archer nodded somberly. "I'll have to explain on the way."

* * *

"I don't know how they found out," Kamea said, "but they did. They must have intercepted my father's communiqués to Vulcan; he kept in contact with his sister and several of his acquaintances in the High Command. That is to say, he contacted them. They did not respond. But he would have told them about me." 

Malcolm listened intently, doing his best to divide his attention between Kamea's confession and the marshy ground. He was not anxious to sink into the mud again – his boots were all but ruined – but he sensed that Kamea was revealing information that very few people knew, and he desperately wanted to hear it. He felt an enormous sense of pride at being the person to whom she confessed. So he said nothing as she spoke, walking beside her and supporting her weight – lest she faint again.

Kamea looked at him, her deep blue eyes seeming to shimmer, and continued. "Whatever the reason, they came looking for us. They knew exactly where to find us." She paused, staring at the ground. "I remember everything about that day. It was a Wednesday – worst day of my life." She stumbled and grabbed a tree branch to steady herself. "It was raining. The Andorians wore black. I was wearing blue."

Malcolm stopped short, unable to believe his ears. "Andorians?" he asked, just for clarification. Surely not the same Andorians who had assisted _Enterprise_ in their war against the Xindi?

She looked back at him, and he could tell from her expression that she was telling the truth. "They called me an abomination," she said. Her voice broke on the last word. "They claimed my father was violating nature by creating me, that I was unfit to live."

He started walking again and caught up to Kamea in seconds. He laid a hand on her shoulder for moral support as well as for balance, as he got the feeling she would need both soon.

"They killed my mother first," she said. Her voice trembled. "My _makua hine_. They… They slashed her throat."

Malcolm slapped a hand to his mouth.

Kamea continued, with obvious difficulty. "They stabbed my father. Said he should suffer for what he had done." She took a deep, shaky breath. "And then they came after me, and I just… I snapped." She shook her head in disbelief. "I don't even remember what happened. All I can remember is wanting them dead."

She had to stop then, because she was overcome with sobs. She crouched near the ground, her face buried in her hands. Her shoulders shook. Unsure of what to do, Malcolm hovered nearby until she had composed herself enough to continue.

"When I came to," she said, her voice quiet and shaky, "I went to my father. He was still alive – barely. He – he told me that he loved me. _Ek'es-ashaya_."

Malcolm knelt down in front of her; her eyes were filled with tears. His heart broke at the sight of her.

"He told me that he was proud of me," she said. She squeezed her eyes shut and the tears ran freely down her cheeks. "_Yaut._ He told me to never forget who I was."

Malcolm reached out and took Kamea's hand in his.

Kamea took another deep breath. "And then he – he put his hand on my face…" She stopped for a moment; her voice had elevated in pitch to where it was almost a squeak. When she began to speak again, her voice had returned to almost normal. "And he said – he said, '_Vokau_'." She raised a hand to her forehead, as though in pain. "And then it was like I could feel his pain, you know? It was so intense and so powerful and then suddenly it was gone." She choked out another sob. "And so was he."

She dissolved into tears once more, and this time Malcolm did not hesitate to draw her into his arms. She went willingly, with no hesitation, burying her face into his chest and sobbing into his shirt. His legs burned from maintaining a crouch for so long, but he ignored the protestations of his muscles. He absently stroked his fingers through Kamea's hair, and though he figured he should try and whisper something soothing to her, he could think of nothing to say. He simply allowed her to cry, it seemed to be good enough for her. They stayed like that for some time.

Eventually, Malcolm pulled Kamea to her feet. They were well past the rendezvous time, and the others would no doubt be worried about them. So they began to walk down the trail again, this time hand in hand.

But apparently, Kamea was not finished with her tale. "I've been running from them ever since," she said. Her voice was steadier now, but there was still a quiver in it. "I can never stay in once place long. They always manage to find me. And now I've put you all in danger."

_Mea po'ino._ So that was what she meant. He shrugged and, in an attempt to lighten the mood, said, "You're not a member of _Enterprise_ until at least one species wants you dead. Did you know that Captain Archer is wanted by the Klingons?"

Kamea met his gaze; her eyes pierced his, and he again got the feeling that she could see right through him. She did not seem to have found his statement amusing. "They caught me once," she said, very slowly and clearly, as if she needed him to understand. "They brought me here."

Malcolm swallowed hard. He had assumed that her fainting spell was only because of her lack of sleep, but now he believed it also had something to do with returning to this planet. "What did they – "

"I don't really remember what they did to me," she said.

But he could tell from her tone that she did remember and simply did not wish to discuss it. That was fine with him; he wasn't all that anxious to hear about it anyway. Still, he couldn't help but think of the horrors Kamea must have endured at the hands of people who considered her to be an abomination, at the hands of people who had thoughtlessly murdered her parents right in front of her. Stumbling across the dead bodies of her parents would have been traumatizing enough, but to witness their deaths… He could not even begin to fathom what that must have been like.

"The Altarans were kind to me," said Kamea. "They helped me escape. They knew the location of an abandoned Dominion escape pod, which is how I managed to get away." She looked at him again, her eyes sad. "That's why they were killed. The Andorians killed them to get to me, I know it. Which means they must be here."

Kamea's gasp came a second too late, as a dart – an actual dart – sailed out of the trees off to their left and embedded itself in her throat. She staggered backwards and collided with a tree, and Malcolm whirled around, searching for the unseen assailant. He found no one, and immediately turned his attention to Kamea.

He expected her to drop into unconsciousness, but she seemed perfectly fine. She pulled the dart out of her skin and eyed it curiously. She held it up for him to see. "Where the hell do you find darts in this day and age?" she asked.

The answer came from the same direction in which the dart had. "You have to know where to look."

Malcolm turned at the voice and saw that their unseen attacker was in fact an Andorian – a short, fat Andorian wearing purple robes trimmed with fur. Malcolm drew his head back in surprise. He looked nothing like any Andorian Malcolm had seen before.

Before anyone could say anything, Kamea flung out her arm. Nothing happened, but from the look on her face, she had clearly expected something to.

"Now, now," said the Andorian. "There'll be none of that." He held up a dart similar to the one that had struck Kamea. "This is a special formula. It blocks your neural processes. Prevents you from using your abilities." He grinned broadly, revealing several missing teeth. "Took us almost three years to develop, but I'd say it was worth it."

Kamea's mouth hung open and her eyes were wide, but there was a glimmer of recognition in them. Malcolm's stomach suddenly went cold.

"You look surprised to see me," said the Andorian.

Kamea's shocked look vanished almost instantly; she replaced it with the mask of indifference she usually wore. She lifted one shoulder in a barely perceptible shrug. "Maybe that's because the last time I saw you, you were dead."

The Andorian cocked his head to the side. "Death is a relative concept." He said this as if he were revealing some universal truth.

Kamea snorted. "Beauty is a relative concept. Death is pretty self-explanatory."

The Andorian threw his head back and laughed heartily in response; the sound of his laugh made Malcolm sick to his stomach.

Malcolm seized the opportunity and looked around, hoping to find some way to escape. But the area was filled with Andorians; at least twenty of them, all armed, and Malcolm had only his phase pistol, having left Kamea's in the shuttle, not that it would have done them any good. He glanced behind him as casually as he could, but there were Andorians there, as well. He looked forward again. There was no way out. They were trapped.

The Andorians began to approach. One grabbed Kamea by the wrist, and she spun around and kicked him in the head. Four more rushed over to take his place. As soon as Malcolm moved to assist Kamea, three had his arms pinned behind his back.

When Kamea saw that they had a hold of him, she abruptly stopped fighting. She turned to the purple-clad Andorian. "Let him go, Akkenar. You don't want him."

Akkenar laughed again. "No, not really. But I'll take him anyway."

Kamea bit one of her captors, but another one reared back and punched her in the face. She kicked at him, but he dove to the ground and wrapped his arms around her legs. She continued to struggle, but more came over. Eventually she hung her head in defeat.

Malcolm attempted to free himself from the Andorians who held him prisoner, but before he was able to do much, something hard struck him in the back of the head, and everything went black.


	7. Breaking Point

**Chapter Seven: Breaking Point**

Kamea had seen a movie once, about prisoners of war in a camp during the Second World War who had staged a massive escape. One of the characters was something of a troublemaker and was constantly spending time in solitary confinement, and he passed the time by bouncing a baseball off the walls of the cell. Her mother had explained that he was attempting to show his captors that he refused to let them break his spirit.

As Kamea sat against the back wall of her and Malcolm's cell, she was now convinced that her mother was wrong. It wasn't about him proving anything to anybody; it was about him trying not to die of boredom.

She had to hand it to these Andorians; they had acquired a lot of new toys since she'd last had the pleasure of being in their company. In addition to the darts that robbed her of her abilities – brilliant, by the way, she must ask them how they did it – they had somehow gotten their hands on a force field cell, in which she was now imprisoned. It was a giant box with invisible walls placed in the middle of a much larger room, which she deemed to be their cargo bay. They must have thought that putting her in the actual brig was too much of a risk.

They were right, of course. She had broken out of there more than once. She'd only been on this ship that one time, but she made sure she didn't make it easy on them. Eventually they'd had to sedate her.

Kamea stood up and began to walk along the wall, defining the size and shape of the cell. It was roughly the size of her quarters back on _Enterprise_ – if they were cut in half. It was rectangular, stretched farther to the side than it did to the rear. It was enough room so that she and Malcolm weren't laying on top of each other – pity about that – but it was hardly enough room to move around comfortably.

Good thing she wasn't claustrophobic. They might have succeeded in breaking her.

She slumped against the wall and slid to the floor with a sigh. An escape attempt would be futile. Even with her abilities, there were very few things she could do against a force field. Of course, she would have liked the opportunity to at least try. And this was a strong force field, too. She had already tried to break it down using physical force, which had only resulted in her injuring both of her hands and her right foot. She knew that it was pointless, but she had to try something. She knew what the Andorians were capable of, and she wasn't all that willing to be at their mercy again.

And now she had dragged Malcolm into her fight. She looked at him. He was still out cold. The Andorians had laid him on the floor, but when the force field went up, he ended up with his head propped up slightly. Kamea had grabbed him by the boots and tugged gently, drawing him farther into the center of the cell and away from the wall. Having him propped against the wall made it seem like he was awake when he wasn't, and that, to put it simply, freaked her out.

Malcolm did not deserve to be here. No one did. This was her cross to bear. She should never have stayed on _Enterprise_. She had gotten so comfortable there that she had allowed herself to forget the reason she was running in the first place. She should have finished rebuilding her ship and left as soon as possible. The Andorians never would have been able to trace her to _Enterprise_ if she had only stayed on board a few days.

She furrowed her brow in confusion. How had the Andorians found her? They were light-years from Andoria, in a completely different quadrant, and the Andorians generally didn't like to travel too far from their home planet. She'd been floating in her ship for more than three weeks with no contact. She'd been on _Enterprise_ for over two months with almost no contact. It had been three months since she'd spoken to anyone outside of _Enterprise_. How had the Andorians even known that she would be out here?

Unless… She groaned. Those damn Ferengi. It must have been them. There was no other explanation. She should have never let them go. She was really sick of being benevolent. When had following Surak ever done her any good?

Malcolm stirred, and she slid over to him. He moaned in pain and opened his eyes in shock when Kamea cupped her hand behind his head. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice hoarse. It was the most beautiful sound in the world.

"You need to keep pressure on it," she said, which was a lie. She just wanted to touch him, to reassure herself that he was really all right. He'd been unconscious for so long… Or maybe it just seemed like a long time. She had no way of estimating how long they had been in this infernal box. It could have been hours; it could have been minutes.

"I'm fine," he said, struggling to sit up. In the end, she had to help him.

She smiled in spite of herself. "Sounds familiar." But the smile quickly faded as the gravity of the situation hit her. "I'm sorry." The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them.

He frowned. "What on Earth for?"

She sputtered, incredulous. "Are you kidding me? I'm sorry for everything – for staying in that village when I knew we should have left, for dumping all my problems on you, for getting us captured, for staying on _Enterprise_ and bringing all of this with me."

"Oh," Malcolm said, dismissing her apology with a wave of his hand. "Nothing to worry about."

She could only stare at him. "Nothing to worry about? How can you say that?"

He flashed her one of his cocky grins, which she normally found irresistible but at the present time could only find inappropriate. "I've been in worse situations." He paused, raising his eyebrows. "Nothing comes to mind right now…"

Kamea rolled her eyes and bit her lip, determined not to give him the satisfaction of smiling. She removed her hand from the back of his head and shifted into a cross-legged position. "What are we going to do?"

Malcolm shook his head slowly. "I don't suppose you have a plan to get us out of this one?"

His tone was only slightly optimistic. He had to realize the hopelessness of the situation. They were being held prisoner on an Andorian ship, which was currently cruising through the Alpha Quadrant, most likely towards the borders of explored space. Once past the most commonly traveled regions, they could dump Kamea's – and probably Malcolm's – bodies were they would never be found. _Enterprise_ would have no idea what had happened to them, and with no way to contact them, _Enterprise_ never would know. And as the final nail in the coffin, without her abilities, Kamea could not defend herself against so many of them. Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes. She had considered the possibility of an early death many times in the past eight years, but she'd never seriously believed this day would come.

Malcolm reached out to brush the tears away and winced with the effort. "We'll find a way out of this, Kamea."

Kamea shook her head in despair. He really didn't see. "No, you don't understand." She hated the way her voice sounded – so pathetic and miserable. She could honestly say she had never felt this defeated. "You don't know what they're capable of. They've been chasing me for eight years. Eight years, Malcolm. Do you have any idea what that's like?"

He shook his head no.

She dropped her head into her hands. "I don't see how we're going to get out of this one."

A noise behind her made her turn. "Oh, good," said Akkenar, his voice oily. "Have we finally broken your spirit?"

Kamea leapt to her feet, holding out her hand to help Malcolm to his. He went more slowly, more cautiously, but he went all the same. She kept a firm grip on his arm to keep him from swaying or collapsing and fixed her meanest glare on Akkenar. The Andorian guffawed heartily, and Kamea wanted nothing more than to rip out his heart.

And if he came within two feet of Malcolm, that was exactly what she would do.

"I was so hoping to witness the moment when you finally broke," Akkenar said, stepping further into the room. His entourage of bodyguards stayed close behind him. "And I see you haven't disappointed."

Kamea felt her lip curl in a sneer. She had sworn on her father's _katra_ that she would never let the Andorians see her cry. And the smugness in Akkenar's tone was something she simply could not allow to continue. "You haven't broken shit, you _bath'pa coi'a t'jarel_."

Akkenar wagged his finger at her. "Tsk, tsk, half-breed. Language. What would your mother say?"

Even though she knew there was a force field surrounding her, Kamea threw herself at the Andorian anyway. She barely noticed the dull throb that set into her shoulder as she painfully slammed against the invisible wall of her cell. She braced her hands on the wall and growled at Akkenar. "Don't you dare mention my _makua hine_, you _keiki manuahi_."

Her anger only served to widen the Andorian's ugly, toothless grin, but he said nothing in response to her outburst.

"You haven't broken me," she said, and though she said it with much conviction, she didn't believe a word of it. "You'll never break me. You've tried and failed, because you just don't get it. I don't care what you do to me."

"Do you think we've learned nothing in all these years?" Akkenar asked. His grin was nauseating. "Oh, yes, we've discovered that is pointless to inflict physical pain upon you. You've proven quite resistant to that particular form of suffering."

Kamea slid her hand up her back, fingering the raised, ropy scar that ran the length of her spine, the result of an exceptionally brutal whipping. The scars that peppered her arms and torso were thanks to the multitude of blades and needles in the Andorians' seemingly endless collection of weapons. If the Andorians were skilled at anything, it was torture. They wanted nothing more than to break her.

But she refused to break.

Akkenar was not finished. "Which is how we arrived at the conclusion that in order to really make you suffer, we must make others suffer."

Her stomach sank into her knees as she realized the direction in which this conversation was heading. She cast a quick glance at Malcolm.

"I thought we would have done it when we killed your traitorous parents," Akkenar said, stepping ever closer to the invisible walls that imprisoned Kamea and Malcolm, "but somehow, you survived. And after your ordeal when we bought you on Orion, we thought we had you. Again, we were wrong. And when we learned from some foul-mouthed aliens that you were on an Earth vessel headed this way, we returned to your favorite planet, to slaughter the species that helped you escape." His eyes gleamed; Kamea felt like she was going to throw up. "For you see, you can stand anything that we do to you, but you cannot stand when we do things to other people because of you."

Finally, he was so close to the force field that, had the invisible wall not been there, he and Kamea would have been nose to nose. His eyes flicked briefly to Malcolm before settling on her once more. "So, half-breed, how would you like yet another's blood on your hands?"

Kamea's blood went cold.

* * *

Eleven hardly made for an even split, but Archer decided that three MACOs would accompany T'Pol, Hoshi, and Ensign Peters and the other three MACOs would go with himself and Trip. T'Pol informed him that Malcolm and Kamea had been instructed to go west, so Archer reasoned that to be the best place to start. He'd explained the situation to the other three members of the original away team, and everyone concluded that they should start searching as soon as possible. 

He was just about to give the order for the search to begin when his communicator chirped. He was not expecting it, since communications were supposed to be jammed, and he assumed that what he heard was some kind of native Altaran animal, like a bird or something similar. But when the noise persisted, he came to realize what it was.

"Captain," Trip said, pointing to the spot on his belt where he kept his communicator, "you expecting an important phone call?"

Archer ignored Trip and answered the communicator. "Go ahead," he said, choosing not to ask why their communications were suddenly working. He was certain that he wouldn't like the answer.

"Captain," said Travis's voice, "the Andorians have broken orbit, sir. Do you want me to follow them?"

At first, Archer thought he had misheard his helmsman. It made absolutely no sense. The Andorians would never have broken orbit unless…

Archer froze. Unless they already had what they had come for. Those bastards had his armory officer and now they were leaving, and if _Enterprise_ didn't follow immediately, there was no telling how long it would take to find them. They had to do something, and they had to do something fast.

"Travis," Archer said, "get someone to the transporter room and beam us up. Now."

He got a surprised, "Sir?" in stereo. Travis's voice came over the communicator, Trip's came from his left, and Hoshi's came from his right. "You heard me, Travis," he said. "Eleven to beam up."

There was a pause, but then Travis said, "Aye, sir," and the line went dead.

For a moment, no one said anything. The others were staring at Archer with appraising looks, as though trying to judge whether or not he had gone insane since landing on the planet's surface. But he was perfectly sane. They had to get Malcolm back, and they had to do it quickly; they might not get another shot at it for quite some time, and Archer was not about to leave his chief of security in the hands of those violent, sadistic Andorians – not while he still had breath in his body.

"Um, Captain?" Trip asked, after a very prolonged moment of silence. He coughed uncertainly and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "What about the shuttle pods?"

Archer shook his head firmly. "There's no time to fly the shuttles back to the ship. We need to pursue the Andorians while we can still locate their warp trail."

Trip opened his mouth to say something else, but before he was able to speak, he dissolved right in front of Archer's eyes. A second later, Archer went, too.

No matter how many times he was transported, he would never get used to the feeling of having his entire body disassembled, moved several hundred thousand kilometers, and reassembled in an entirely different location. It was extremely disorienting, and it always made Archer dizzy and somewhat nauseous.

He didn't stop to even cast a glance at whomever had been responsible for beaming them back to the ship but instead went directly to the bridge. The sound of footsteps behind him told him that Trip, T'Pol, and Hoshi were following. For the entire trip to the bridge, all he could think was that if he had thought of another solution, they wouldn't be in this mess. But that was ridiculous. The only real answer to this problem would have been to forbid Kamea to stay on _Enterprise_. He knew she'd been delaying in rebuilding her ship; he should have given her a deadline. There was no reason for her continued presence on board his ship. He had known that she would cause trouble, and now she had lured his armory officer into trouble with her.

"I don't get it, sir," Trip said, as he took Malcolm's usual post. "What exactly do the Andorians want with Kamea?"

Archer had no idea, but he didn't need to answer. T'Pol answered for him. "There are some Andorians who are fearful of a Vulcan/human alliance," she said. "They believe that, when we do form an alliance, it will be because we wish to unite against them."

"Why would they think that?" Trip asked. "I mean, we actually owe the Andorians. Shran and his people helped us out with the Xindi."

T'Pol kept her eyes on her console, her fingers dancing across the controls as she tried to lock onto the Andorian ship's coordinates. "Andoria is a divided planet. There are different factions, and there is one that is particularly anti-Earth."

Archer swiveled in his seat to stare at his science officer. "Nice of you to let us know."

T'Pol looked up at him with a blank look and a raised eyebrow. "They have never been a problem before, or I would have informed you of their existence." Something on her console beeped. She glanced at it, then back at him. "Captain, we have located the Andorian vessel."

"Travis," Archer said, rising to his feet to stand behind the boomer, "ahead warp four."

* * *

Kamea couldn't look. She wouldn't look. But they were making her look. They had shrunk the size of her cell until she could only stand in one spot. She could shut her eyes but was unable to move her arms to cover her ears. And it was the sounds, more than anything, that got to her. Just seeing it would have been bad enough – she could have closed her eyes – but there was no way to block the sounds, not in her current position. 

She wanted to throw up. She wanted to pass out. She wanted to do something – anything except witness what she was seeing now. But her body had revolted. Tired of being abused and ignored for so long, her body was refusing to let her do anything other than watch. But she couldn't watch. Because if she watched, she would break.

She would not break. It was a mantra she kept repeating to herself. She would not break. They would not break her.

The Andorians had finally figured it out – finally learned that the one way to get to Kamea was to make other people suffer because they had come into contact with her. It had happened numerous times before – people that hid her or helped her were slaughtered for no reason other than they had hid her or helped her. Akkenar had ordered his crew to wipe out an entire species of peaceful mystics; of course he would have no problem torturing a single human being.

Every time the crack of a whip striking flesh met her ears, her heart broke. She could literally feel herself splintering from the inside. Eventually she would shatter. She felt cold inside, empty, and she just wished the Andorians would hurry up and kill her so the emptiness would go away. She wanted them to get it over with. Because every time that whip cracked, she sank a little further into the darkness.

But Malcolm refused to break.

She couldn't help but admire his strength. She knew what he was going through, and it was not easy to resist the desire to scream in agony. As soon as the screams started, the spirit was broken. Once the spirit was broken, they won. But Malcolm wasn't screaming. When she dared to open her eyes, she saw that he was in extreme pain – how could he not be? – but he wasn't screaming. He was biting his lip to prevent himself from screaming, and his lip was bleeding, but there were no screams. He was not going to break.

The same could not be said for her. Every time they struck him with the whip, she broke – just a little. The longer it lasted, the more she broke. Soon, there would be nothing left, just an empty, hollow shell.

But that was exactly what the Andorians wanted. So what if she died knowing they won? At least she would die. Then she would finally be free.

Kamea had no idea how long the whipping lasted, but at long last it came to an end. Her muscles burned from staying in one position for so long, but she still couldn't move. She waited anxiously for them to expand the force field and put Malcolm back in the cell, but she waited in vain.

Akkenar, who had watched the entire proceedings with that slimy grin on his face, snapped his fingers. Two Andorians each grabbed one of Malcolm's arms and dragged him over to Akkenar. Malcolm tried to prop himself up so that he could look Akkenar in the eye, but his arms were shaking with the effort. Akkenar tilted his head to the side, surveying the damage his men had done. Finally, he nodded. He snapped his fingers again, and those same two Andorians stepped forward and hauled Malcolm to his feet.

Akkenar licked his lips. "Kill him."

All at once, Kamea's broken shell pieced itself back together. She could feel the fire building in her belly, the familiar fire of uncontrollable rage. She had only really ever felt it once, but now it was returning – with friends. Her head throbbed painfully behind her eyes. Her throat constricted and cut off her air. Black spots flashed in front of her, and the world faded to black, so that the only thing she could see was that _keiki manuahi_ who had the audacity to mention her mother, who insisted on referring to her as "it" and "half-breed", who was about to kill this sweet man for the sole reason that he knew her.

Her father's voice echoed in her head_. Ri klau au ik klau tu._

The rage bubbled up. She could actually feel it rising in her, moving from her stomach up to her chest.

Her father's voice got louder and stronger. _Kup-fun-tor ha'kiv na'ish du stau?_

She clenched her fists so tightly together that her fingernails dug into her skin. She hardly noticed the stinging as the blood trickled down her palm.

_Vah mau vah tor-yehat ri stau._ Now it sounded as though her father were directly beside her, whispering into her ear.

She ignored her father. She never listened to him while he was alive, why should she start now? She summoned all her pent-up anger and frustration – at the Andorians, at her hellacious life, at her insomnia, at her father. The world around her continued to fade to black until she could see nothing. With a scream that could have raised the dead, she pounded her fists into the invisible wall that surrounded her.

It shattered. Had it been tangible, the force of her assault would have send shards of glass flying across the room. But it shattered nonetheless. She could feel it crumbling around her as she stared down at where the floor should have been.

When she looked up, she could see again. It was instantaneous. She flared out her nostrils and went directly for Akkenar.

His bodyguards rushed in to subdue her, but one fling of her arm sent them hurtling across the cargo bay and into the wall, where they hit with sickening crunches that made her heart soar. Most of them were knocked unconscious, but the ones that weren't made no move to come near her again.

She kept her eyes focused on Akkenar. He recovered from his shock fairly quickly, his face dissolving into that blasted grin of his, but there was no mirth behind it. Only fear. "So, you've overcome that particular obstacle," he said. He was trying to make light of the change in circumstances, but she could hear the quiver in his voice. He was afraid.

Good.

Kamea clenched her teeth. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you."

Akkenar pointed to Malcolm, who – with the absence of support – had collapsed. "If you kill me, they'll kill him," he said, gesturing to his unconscious bodyguards.

Kamea only cocked an eyebrow. "Not if I kill them all first."

"Vulcans don't kill," Akkenar said, in as smarmy a voice as she had ever heard.

She narrowed her eyes. "Try me."

The Andorian shook his head in mock disbelief. "Do you really want all our blood on your hands? Could you live with yourself?"

Truthfully, she thought she could. And she would rather have their blood on her hands than Malcolm's. But now that her anger had subsided somewhat, her mind was regurgitating her father's advice._ Vah mau vah tor-yehat ri stau._ She shook her head in an effort to free herself from her father and said, "I'll make you a deal, you _kekake_."

Akkenar's eyes lit up at the mention of the word. "A deal you say?"

She nodded slowly. "You and me. No weapons. No powers. Just skin. You win, and you can kill us both. I win…" She sucked in a sharp breath and looked at Malcolm for a long moment. When her eyes returned to Akkenar, she finished. "…You let Malcolm go, and just kill me."

* * *

**A/N: _bath'pa coi'a t'jarel -- _literally means "cursed butt of a horse", but which I use in this context to mean "damn horse's ass"  
_makua hine -- _mother  
_keiki manuahi -- _bastard  
_Ri klau au ik klau tu --_ Do not harm those that harm you.  
_Kup-fun-tor ha'kiv na'ish du stau? --_ Can you return to life what you kill?  
_Vah mau vah tor-yehat ri stau --_ As far as possible, do not kill.  
_Kekake -- _jackass**

**Surak's sayings are once again courtesy of the Vulcan Language Dictionary.**

**The movie to which Kamea refers at the beginning of the chapter is _The Great Escape_, in case anyone wanted to know. She's talking about Hilts, Steve McQueen's character. I don't own either _The Great Escape_ or Steve McQueen, either. Sad but true.**

**After my shift tonight, my hellish week will finally be over! YAY! Also, I am now part-time at the bank, so I will actually have days off, so hopefully I can get chapter 8 finished and posted sometime next week. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and if you did, then review and let me know. Reviews make me happy and right now I'm not so happy because my trainer got transferred to a different branch and I liked him. And now I'm still in training, I just don't have my trainer. It's very confusing. But anyway, a review might make me feel better.**


	8. Lies

**A/N: Here, for your reading pleasure, is chapter 8. Y'ins had better like it, because it took me like a month to write it. Of course, I wasn't actually writing it all during that month, but still. And I would have gotten it finished earlier this week, except my vile dreaded loathsome aunt was visiting, and therefore sleeping in the room in which my computer is kept, ergo I could not get in to use it. So if you don't like this chapter I shall sic my wiener dog army after you. Not really. I don't have an army of wiener dogs. **

**This chapter is still pretty violent. Remember, this story's got a T rating for a reason. If you're opposed to violence in any way, still please read this chapter, but don't hold it against me. I did warn you. How's this: CAUTION CAUTION CAUTION. There you go.**

**Chapter 9 shall be posted whenever I can get it written. Hopefully by next week sometime.**

**_Ko-fu_ – daughter**

**_Khrash nam-tor ri kilko-srashiv_ – Violence is not the answer.**

**_Kaumaha, makua kane_ – Sorry, father.**

**_Au pono_ – I must.**

**Thank you all for the continued reviews! You're making puppies happy!**

**volley – I hope you had a good vacation and that it wasn't too difficult to find an internet café!**

**

* * *

Chapter Eight: Lies**

Akkenar shook his head, as though he'd misheard her, but she knew damn well that he'd heard every word. "What?"

Kamea straightened, infusing as much starch into her spine as possible. "You heard me," she said. She hoped the contempt in her voice was unmistakable. "You win, we die. I win, I die." She cocked her head to the side, attempting to gauge his reaction. "What do you say?"

The Andorian looked like he just won the lottery. His face lit up even more than it had while he was watching Malcolm be tortured. She could tell that he was eager to take the deal but that he also thought she wasn't serious. "What's the catch?"

She just stared at him. She was done with it – all of it. She was done with the running, and the whispers behind her back, and the nightmares, and that damn voice in the back of her head, and the hiding, and the fear. _Cast out fear. There is no room for anything else until you cast out fear._ Well, she wasn't afraid anymore. She wasn't afraid to die. Death would be welcome, a blessing. She could finally go home; she could finally get some sleep. In the end, that was really all she wanted.

"No catch," she said.

"So," said Akkenar slowly, removing his fur cloak and tossing it aside, "you would die either way?"

Unconsciously, she started to shake. She wanted nothing more than to go to Malcolm and say a proper goodbye. This would most likely be the last time she ever saw him. There was so much she wanted to say, but there weren't any words – in English, Hawaiian, or Vulcan – to accurately express the way she felt when she was with him. She had waited her entire life to find the connection her mother had been talking about, and now she was going to die.

Figured. She really had crappy luck. All she had to do was remind herself that there was no other way. She was not going to get out of this alive – the odds were most definitely not in her favor – but there was still hope for Malcolm. And that was good enough for her.

She held Akkenar's gaze and nodded once.

"No, Kamea," Malcolm said, as he struggled to get to his feet. He propped himself up using the wall and after several failed attempts managed to pull himself upright. He was a mess. His face was so purple that he looked like a different species; there was swelling around his eyes and his lips so that his face was a misshapen mess. His clothes were torn in many places, revealing deep gashes that soaked the fabric with blood. And she was certain that the Andorians had broken at least two of his fingers. She blinked back tears. "You don't have to do this."

Kamea swallowed the lump that had suddenly lodged itself in her throat. "Yes. I do."

"You can't do this," Malcolm said. He shook his head and shut his eyes, in obvious pain. "I won't let you do this."

She tried to smile but wasn't able to. The best she could manage was a half-grin that faltered and vanished almost immediately. "You're not exactly in the position to stop me."

"Kamea," he said, and the sound of his voice saying her name almost made her lose it right there. "Don't do this. I'm not worth it."

She reached out cautiously to cup his cheek. She fought to keep her body under control, but her heartbeat accelerated, her breathing shallowed, and every cell in her body was on fire. She hoped he noticed, because there was no way she could put all that into words. "Don't worry," she said. "I don't intend to lose."

She wanted nothing more than to kiss him then, or have him kiss her. She wondered what it would feel like, pressing her lips to his, tasting him. She wondered if the sparks she felt when she touched him would be magnified by a kiss. She wondered if what she felt for him was mutual, or if it was just her overactive imagination wreaking havoc with her mind. Wouldn't be the first time. She wondered how he would touch her – would he cup her face, or thread his hands in her hair? Would the kisses be soft and delicate or full of passion and need?

But what it felt like, she wouldn't find out. Akkenar had come up behind them and kicked her in the back of the head. She pitched forward, knocking Malcolm over, and threw her arms out to break her fall and keep herself off him. The pain was a short burst that caused black spots to flash before her eyes, but she blinked and it was gone. She took a deep breath, struggling to keep her volatile emotions under control, trying to clear her mind and focus her energy. She had promised not to use her abilities, but she still had an advantage over the reckless, impatient Andorian.

He approached her once more from behind, but she rolled to the side and out of his way. By the time he realized his error and adjusted his trajectory, she was on her feet.

She was not going to lose. Akkenar may have been an Andorian and trained in combat, but most Andorians were used to fighting with weapons and not hand-to-hand. And she was also very well trained, in several different styles. She'd studied under the Klingons and had learned many of Starfleet's tactics during her spars with Malcolm, plus she had a black belt in judo from one of San Francisco's martial arts academies. Besides, she had waited for this opportunity for almost eight years, she had nearly six decades of pent-up frustration at her disposal, and she was fighting to save someone else's life. That, more than anything, was what kept her going.

Kamea dropped into her ready stance, one arm bent near her head, the other straight out. She beckoned Akkenar closer. "Let's dance, you and I."

He lunged forward, swinging his fist around. She parried his punch easily and attacked with one of her own, which he dodged with just as much ease. Right hook, left jab, combination, uppercut – they fought their way across the cargo bay. The Andorians kept at a safe distance, cheering their captain on. Emboldened by the support of his crew, Akkenar managed to backhand Kamea across the face. She tasted blood but paid it no heed, countering with a tornado kick. He grabbed her foot and held her leg parallel to the ground, so she swung her free leg around and caught him on the side of the head. Akkenar dropped like a stone and, still clutching Kamea's foot, took her with him. He fell backwards; she landed hard on her shoulder. The pain momentarily blinded her, and she was fairly positive that she had dislocated her shoulder.

"Oh, are you injured?" Akkenar asked, not the least bit concerned. He scrambled to his feet.

Kamea braced her arms on the floor and leapt to her feet, swaying slightly from the pain. She was hit with a sudden wave of nausea but closed her eyes until it passed. She went back into her ready crouch. "Not in the slightest."

Akkenar came at her again, so she did a one-handed back handspring, kicking him in the head. When she righted herself, she clutched her injured arm to her stomach. Every time she moved it, pain shot down to her fingers, but she ignored it. She favored her other arm, but she was sure Akkenar would realize what she was doing.

He did a scissor kick, but she cartwheeled out of the way. She tried a left hook – as her left arm was her good arm – but he ducked and landed a jab in her abdomen. She brought her arms together, elbow to wrist, and thumped him on the back with her elbows as hard as she could. Akkenar sank to his knees, grabbed her ankles, and yanked her off her feet. She landed on her back, her head smacking off the floor. While Akkenar tried to get to his feet, Kamea used her good arm to push off and spun around on her back so that her legs knocked into his. As soon as he hit the ground, Kamea got to her feet. She raised her foot to smash it in his face, but he rolled out of the way. He then hooked his feet around her ankle and twisted, bringing her back to the floor. She landed on her injured shoulder and couldn't help the gasp that escaped when she hit.

Fighting down yet another wave of nausea, she slowly stumbled to her feet, and that – she was sure – Akkenar noticed. "Well, now," he said, in his slimy voice, "it seems that the half-breed isn't indestructible after all."

Ignoring the pain in her right arm, Kamea executed a series of acrobatic moves – roundoff, back handspring, roundoff – ending with a spinning jump kick that sent Akkenar reeling. When he straightened and tried a cross-hook combination, she bent backwards as far as she could go and snapped back up when he pulled away.

"Impressive," Akkenar said. "Tell me, half-breed, what other ways do you bend?"

Kamea shrieked a war cry and attacked with a barrage of punches. "I am not a half-breed!" Every word of her next sentence was punctuated by a punch.

"Don't – " Jab. " – call – " Left hook. " – me – " Uppercut. " – half-breed." High kick directly underneath his chin.

Akkenar stumbled but didn't fall. He staggered backwards into the wall, which kept him upright. He pushed off from the wall and ran at her, arms outstretched. With her vision blurred from the pain in her shoulder, she didn't realize what he was doing until it was too late. His arm caught her in the throat, knocking her backwards and ripping the breath from her body. As she lay on the ground, completely winded, she sensed him coming at her, so she summoned what little strength remained and pushed herself into a handstand, catching his head between her thighs.

He tried to wedge his hands between her legs to pull them apart, but as soon as his hands touched her, she – for lack of a better word – freaked out. She pulled her legs backward, throwing Akkenar over her shoulder. He hit the wall pretty hard, with a crunch that normally would have been sickening but made Kamea that much happier. She sincerely hoped he'd broken something important.

He struggled to get to his feet. He pushed himself up on his arms, but they shook from the effort, and he collapsed. In a flash, before he could summon the strength to rise, she was kneeling over him, her hand poised above his chest, as if to rip out his heart.

Kamea dug her fingernails into his flesh so hard that blue blood trickled out of the wounds. "I win."

The Andorian looked up at her, his eyes burning with intense hatred. "So you do." He snarled, baring his teeth. "Now get off me."

She stood, backing away several paces. Now that her adrenaline was no longer flowing, her arm hurt worse than ever, a dull, throbbing pain that was beginning to spread to the rest of her body. The arm hung limply at her side, all but useless, having come almost completely out of the socket. But did it really matter, since she was about to die anyway?

At that moment, realizing she was but a heartbeat from death, she did the only thing she could think to do.

She ran to Malcolm.

He opened his arms to her, but before she reached him, she was grabbed from behind by several of Akkenar's soldiers, who seemed to have recovered from being smashed into a wall.

Akkenar strolled over, as casually as he could stroll while dragging one leg behind him and clutching a hand to his wounded chest. He walked over to them and, while keeping his eyes fixed on Kamea, said to his men, "Kill him."

Kamea felt the breath leave her body for the second time that day. "What?" she said, sputtering indignantly. "You said you wouldn't kill him!"

The Andorian shrugged carelessly. "I lied."

His dishonesty should not have surprised her, but it did. She didn't even try to fight back against her captors. She was in such a state of shock that she couldn't do anything else but stand there, eyes wide. "We made a deal," she said, sounding very much like a whining teenager who hadn't gotten her way. "If I win, Malcolm goes free."

Akkenar laughed and shook his head. "Ah, yes, you did propose such a deal, but I don't recall actually agreeing to it."

More of the Andorians started for Malcolm, but Kamea finally discovered that she had the ability to move. "No!" She elbowed her captors in the stomach and threw out her hands, putting a force field around Malcolm. But in her weakened state, she couldn't maintain it, and as soon as it began to fail, they marched towards him.

Ignoring her throbbing and practically useless right arm, she flung out her arms, throwing all of the Andorians backwards. Some slid along the floor until they hit the wall, but some glided to a stop. She whirled on Akkenar and grabbed him by the shoulders, heaving him up several inches off the ground.

"You said you wouldn't use your powers," Akkenar said. But there was no mocking in his tone – only fear.

She narrowed her eyes. "I lied."

He shook his head and forced a laugh. "Vulcans don't lie." He was shaking, but from rage or from fear, Kamea neither knew nor cared. "Vulcans don't kill, either."

Her upper lip curled in a sneer. "I'm not Vulcan."

Akkenar licked his lips nervously. "Come now, half-breed. Your traitorous parents would advocate a peaceful solution."

Kamea slammed him against the wall. That familiar blackness was returning to her eyes, the familiar burning was rising in her throat. "They're dead. Thanks to you."

He kicked at her, but she jumped out of the way and, with a sudden upsurge of strength probably fueled by rage more than adrenaline, she hurled him across the empty cargo bay. A loud crack as he landed signaled the breaking of at least one of his limbs. She marched over to him, suffering from tunnel vision – she saw him and only him.

"You never answered me," she said, stepping on his fingers as he tried to crawl away. She was sorely tempted to press harder until she felt the bones crumble underneath her foot, but she refrained. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words came out – only blood. She crouched low to the ground and said, "I'm still waiting for a reason not to kill you."

Again, a voice sounded in her ear – soft but firm, a voice she knew to be her father's. _Ko-fu_, he said, _khrash nam-tor ri kilko-srashiv._

She drew in a sharp breath and for a moment seemed to come back to herself. Her arm throbbed painfully and she looked at her weakened and practically helpless enemy. She thought of the person she would become if she succumbed to this unnatural desire to kill, and she knew that it was not the kind of person that she wanted to be. What must her parents think of her, unable to decide what should be an easy choice?

Rage bubbled up once more. She would never know what her parents thought, because – thanks to the lump of garbage sprawled beneath her – she would never see her parents again. This piece of filth, this scum, this vermin, would just as soon kill her as look at her, and he was more than willing to kill innocent people in order to get to her. She would be doing the universe a favor if she ended his terror tactics now, while she had the chance. If she let him go, this opportunity might never present itself again. Would she be able to live with herself if she killed him? Maybe, maybe not. But would she be able to live with herself if she sent him on his way and he continued to hunt her and to murder innocent lives in the process?

Her head began to pulse. She shook it to break free of her father's grip and said, "_Kaumaha, makua kane._" She stared down at Akkenar. "_Au pono._"

Everything went black.

* * *

_Enterprise_ continued to speed through the quadrant at warp four, following the decaying plasma trail the Andorians had left behind, which was growing stronger by the minute. The stars were just blurs in the view ports, and the bridge crew was on edge, but none more so than the captain, who was pacing restlessly back and forth, chewing absently on his fingernails.

"We're approaching the Andorian vessel, Captain," Travis said.

Archer glanced up from the area of deck plating at which he'd been staring for the past hour. He swallowed to dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat and nodded. "Drop out of warp, Ensign."

He felt the engines shift underfoot as the white lines outside the view port shrank to pinpoints of light once more. He resumed his frenzied pacing, his gaze anxiously flicking to the window to see whether or not they had come alongside the Andorian vessel yet. When they were finally within range, Archer turned to Hoshi. "Hail them."

She nodded and immediately set about doing just that. Her fingers flew across the controls of her console, and soon her brow furrowed in concern. She swallowed and looked at him. "There's no response, Captain."

Archer's head began to throb – painfully. He clenched his teeth and tried very hard not to scream. It wasn't Hoshi's fault, after all. "Try again."

That she did, but with the same results. Archer gritted his teeth. If the Andorians wanted to play this game, he was all too willing. They would soon learn not to mess with a member of _Enterprise's_ crew. When it came to his crew, Archer would fight to the death. He hoped it hadn't already come to that – that Malcolm was still alive. Why did he have this feeling that something horrible had happened?

Fighting the sinking feeling in his gut, he turned to T'Pol. "Bio signs?" he asked.

She glanced down at the readings and cocked an eyebrow. Archer tried to read her lack of facial expressions and found that he was unable to do so. She finally glanced up at him. "Two," she said, and though she rarely revealed much by way of vocal inflections, Archer could tell that she was surprised. "One human, one indeterminate."

Archer unintentionally stormed over to her station. "What do you mean there's only two bio signs?" He braced his hands on the console and leaned forward so that he was almost nose-to-nose with her. She bristled noticeably. "That ship has a crew complement of at least thirty."

T'Pol pulled back from him and narrowed her eyes slightly. "I am aware of that, Captain. I am only detecting two bio signs."

He exhaled loudly through his nose, and T'Pol shook her head. "Captain, I do not understand what is troubling you. According to these readings, it is obvious that Kamea and Lieutenant Reed are still alive, yet you seem upset."

Archer shook his head. "That ship has got to be wired to explode or something. They wouldn't have just left them there unless they were incapacitated." He whirled around to face Trip. "Check for any explosives."

Trip did as he was instructed. He rubbed his chin as he examined the readings. "Well, Captain, I'm not picking up anything like that. No timers, no detonating devices, just the standard ammunition for a ship of that size – all contained in the weapons locker."

Archer began to chew on the skin surrounding his thumbnail. What if this was a set up? Why would the Andorians have gone to so much trouble to find Kamea only to abandon her on their ship? None of this made any sense. "Then they've been poisoned," he said with finality, though he wasn't at all certain, "or they left them there to die."

"Captain," Trip said. He cleared his throat. "There, uh, aren't any shuttles missing."

Archer's eyebrows disappeared into his hair. "What?"

Trip coughed nervously. "If the Andorians left the ship, sir, they didn't do it in any of their shuttles."

That sinking feeling returned with friends. Something seriously wrong had happened on that ship, and they had to find out what. They had to bring their people back. Archer nodded solemnly and walked over to his companel. "Bridge to transporter room."

Lieutenant Hess's voice filled the bridge. "Hess here, Captain."

Archer licked his lips and sank into his chair. "Prepare to beam Lieutenant Reed and Kamea aboard."

"Uh, sir?" Hess said. "There's a problem with that, sir."

Archer buried his face in his hands and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming. This was just not his day. "Are we getting some kind of interference again?" he asked, knowing damn well that they weren't, because T'Pol would have reported it before now.

"No, sir," said Hess. "It's just that, um, the transporter hasn't been calibrated for Kamea yet. We won't be able to get a lock on her position."

Archer slowly turned to face his chief engineer, who grinned in embarrassment, his entire face beet red. He cleared his throat and looked down at Malcolm's console. "It's on the top of my to-do list, Captain."

Archer groaned loudly and punched the button on the companel again. "Transporter room, just beam Lieutenant Reed aboard, then. We'll get a shuttle and go fetch Kamea ourselves."

"Is that wise, Captain?" T'Pol asked. "We have no idea what happened to the Andorians."

"I'm not leaving her there," Archer said.

* * *

The corridors of the Andorian ship were so silent it was unnerving, even to the normally unflappable Vulcan, but T'Pol continued her trek towards the cargo bay, where her scanners were detecting one bio sign. The captain followed closely behind her, and behind him were half a dozen heavily-armed MACOs. It was becoming standard procedure for the MACOs to come on these missions, which T'Pol felt was a wise decision. Surely they were better equipped and more aptly trained for the kind of situations into which crewmembers of _Enterprise_ had an unfortunate tendency to fall.

After having seen the condition Lieutenant Reed was in, T'Pol was surprised to learn that Kamea was alive at all. Malcolm was unconscious when Lieutenant Hess had beamed him aboard, but his vitals were stable, and Phlox was optimistic about his recovery. Trip and the captain had been visibly nauseated at the sight of their armory officer bruised and bloody, looking as though he had endured several violent beatings. When the team left to retrieve Kamea, Trip had immediately ventured towards the transporter room, stating that this would never happen again.

T'Pol crept through the corridors, trying to ignore the vile stench of death that hung in the air, but it was difficult. Something awful had happened here, and she was concerned for Kamea's welfare. If the Andorians had treated Lieutenant Reed so despicably, surely Kamea would be in a far worse state.

When they reached the cargo bay, T'Pol suddenly wished that were the case.

Bodies were strewn across the cargo bay – all of them Andorian. Some of them looked as though their brains had exploded out of their heads. Others appeared to have been snapped bodily in half. All of them wore the same expression of fear – it grotesquely contorted their faces in a way that made T'Pol sick to her stomach. Blue blood spattered the walls, the floor, even the ceiling.

"My God," Archer said softly, coming to a stop at T'Pol's shoulder, "what happened here?"

T'Pol found that she could not respond. Her tongue simply refused to move. She could not take her eyes off of the bodies, many of whom had apparently been killed while running for their lives.

"This was a massacre," the captain said. T'Pol was inclined to agree. Her eyes darted across the room, surveying the carnage, and finally came to rest on a solitary figure seated in the corner.

Kamea had curled into a fetal position, using her left arm to hug her knees to her chest. Her right arm hung limply at her side, and it appeared as though the shoulder had been dislocated. She was covered in Andorian blood, rocking back and forth slightly, singing quietly to herself in what T'Pol presumed to be Hawaiian. She did not seem to have noticed them.

It suddenly hit T'Pol what must have happened, though she was loath to believe it. However, she knew that Kamea was able to do this kind of damage; she had just hoped that she was not capable of it.

Archer hissed in a sharp breath. "You don't think…" He trailed off, glancing around the room. "Not Kamea?"

The sound of her name must have jerked Kamea out of her trance, because she looked at them. Her eyes were dull and dead, hard and cold. "They were going to kill him," she said, by way of explanation. "They said they wouldn't, but they were." She stared into space for a moment, gazing at a spot to the right of the captain. "I couldn't let them do that," she said, meeting their eyes once more. "I couldn't let them kill him."

"Kamea," Archer said, as though unable to believe what she was confessing, "what have you done?"

She lifted her good shoulder in a barely perceptible shrug. "What I had to do."


	9. Walking Death

**Chapter Nine: Walking Death**

It had been a while since Phlox had had more than one patient in sickbay at once, but now he had to deal with Lieutenant Reed's extensive injuries – he was still unconscious – and Kamea, whose malady seemed more psychological than physical. Phlox set her arm – she had dislocated her right shoulder – and spread a healing salve over the odd-shaped cuts he'd discovered on both palms, but other than that she was fine – physically. Captain Archer claimed that she'd been quite lucid when he and T'Pol found her on the Andorian ship, but she seemed to have retreated into a semi-catatonic state; she was rather uncommunicative and in fact had not said a word since the captain had brought her to sickbay. She allowed Phlox to bind her wounds without even looking at him, instead concentrating on a spot on the wall directly in front of her, and refused to answer any questions about how she and Lieutenant Reed had received their injuries.

So when she spoke, several hours later, Phlox jumped a little, surprised by the sudden noise in the relative quiet of sickbay. He hadn't even been paying attention to either of his patients. Kamea had barely moved since being brought in, and Lieutenant Reed was still unconscious, though resting comfortably, so Phlox had seen no problem with returning to his experiments.

"Will he be all right?" Kamea asked.

Phlox turned to find that she had gotten out of bed and was standing beside Malcolm's. She was, quite unnecessarily, clutching her right arm with her left arm. She brought her gaze up to meet Phlox's, and he was astounded by the change in her appearance. He hadn't really noticed before, but her skin was sunken and drawn, and her eyes were dull and haunted. He knew of course that her ordeal with the Andorians must have been horrifying, but she looked as though she was a walking, talking corpse.

He shook his head to clear the sudden, ghastly images that accompanied that phrase and smiled as reassuringly as possible. "Yes," he said. "He'll be fine."

She did not look at all reassured. She returned her gaze to the unconscious lieutenant. "He's so pale." She shivered. "Pale like death."

Phlox went back to his experiments, bringing his attention back to the PADD he'd been examining before the interruption. "He lost a lot of blood. With adequate rest and physical therapy, there is no reason why he can't return to his duties in a week or two." He paused, skimming the information on the PADD. "Lieutenant Reed has been through far worse than this, I assure you."

Kamea made a noise of disbelief in the back of her throat but kept her eyes trained on Malcolm. "Somehow, I doubt that."

Perhaps it was the defeat in her tone that made Phlox look at her once more. She stretched out her good arm to touch Lieutenant Reed's forehead tentatively, then she ran her fingers through his hair. She crouched down, placed her lips directly next to his ear, and said, "_Kaumaha_."

Then she returned to her bio bed and resumed staring at the wall.

The next morning, while Phlox was checking Lieutenant Reed's vitals, Kamea spoke again, in the same halting, disjointed tone of a woman who had completely lost her way.

"I feel like I'm losing my mind," she said. She didn't meet Phlox's eye. She played with her fingers instead.

Phlox went over to her. "How so?" he asked, trying to be soothing. She had, after all, just been through a terrible ordeal, and some sort of breakdown was to be expected after experiencing a trauma like that.

"I can hear these…voices…in my head." She tilted her head to the side, until it was almost parallel with the ground, and dusted the blankets of the bio bed with her hair. "I think it's my father. He's always been there, really, he's just never been this clear before."

Phlox cocked an eyebrow, both at her words and her behavior. Perhaps he should do another neural scan. With her unusual brain functions, she could very well have blown a synapse or something may have misfired in one of her zones. He considered informing the captain but ultimately decided against it. Captain Archer would be told when Phlox had something to tell. As of this moment, he had only Kamea's odd behavior and his gut instinct, but he couldn't go to the captain without some kind of proof.

He convinced her to go into the x-ray chamber for another scan, though it really didn't take much convincing. She nodded once and then became thoroughly engrossed in the movement of her hair, tossing her head from side to side so that her hair swung back and forth. Eventually Phlox managed to coax her into the chamber and take the necessary scans. When he released her, she returned to her bed and proceeded to chew on her hair.

The scans were not promising. Phlox studied them laboriously for several hours before he reasoned that it was time to call Captain Archer.

They met in the captain's quarters, just Phlox and the captain, because Phlox wasn't sure if Kamea should hear this information just yet, but he also didn't think it was prudent to let the entire senior staff – with the exception of Malcolm, who was still unconscious – know of this sudden turn of events. Also, it was rather late.

"What seems to be the problem, Doctor?" Captain Archer asked when Phlox finally arrived in his room.

Phlox wasn't quite sure how to explain it, but he did the best he could. "Essentially," he said, after describing the long and confusing process to the mystified captain, "Kamea's abilities are advancing."

Captain Archer raised an eyebrow. "Advancing."

"Yes," Phlox said, handing the captain the PADD that contained the information about which he was speaking. He had transferred all of the pertinent graphs and data into it before leaving sickbay. He pointed to the areas of the brain about which he was speaking. "She explained that, in times of great emotional upheaval, different zones of her brain are accessed."

The captain nodded in understanding. "I remember."

Phlox pursed his lips but otherwise ignored the interruption. This was important. "When she first arrived on the ship, I took several readings of her brain activity. I determined that she was using thirty-three percent of her brain, which is almost three times the norm."

"What's she using now?" Archer asked, crossing his arms and leaning back slightly to examine the data. From the tone of his voice, Phlox could tell that he did not expect the numbers to have climbed all that much.

Taking a deep breath, Phlox answered. "Fifty-six percent."

Had Archer been drinking at that moment, he most assuredly would have spit his beverage across the room. He looked at Phlox with wide eyes and an open mouth, sputtering incoherently. "Are you sure?"

Phlox nodded, somewhat impatiently. He did not like the implication that he was not capable of doing his job accurately. "I ran the scans three times, Captain. There is no mistake." He took the PADD from Archer, pressed a few buttons, and brought up two readouts of Kamea's neural activity, which looked similar to echocardiograms – one was from two months prior and one was from earlier that day. The spikes on the latter were much more frequent and pronounced than those on the former, and Phlox pointed this out to Captain Archer. "She is also experiencing some delusional behavior."

Archer just looked at him. "Delusional?"

He clearly expected an explanation, so Phlox elaborated. "She claims to be hearing voices. And she is acting in a most bizarre manner."

The captain scrubbed his hands across his face. "Everything about her is bizarre, if you ask me." He ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled deeply. "Should she be isolated?"

Phlox shook his head. "I don't think so. She doesn't seem to be a threat to anyone. In fact, she can be released, though I should continue to monitor her, to be safe."

"Of course," Archer said, resting his hands on the back of his neck and dropping his head back to look at the ceiling. "Whatever you think is necessary." There was a pause, and then the captain asked, "How's Malcolm?"

"Lieutenant Reed is resting comfortably," Phlox said, his normal good cheer returning. "His condition is stable, and his vitals are excellent. He should wake up at any moment."

"Well, that's good news at least," said Archer. He looked at Phlox. "Did she tell you what happened?"

Phlox shook his head. Kamea still refused to answer any questions about what had transpired on the Andorian vessel. "I'm sorry, Captain. It seems as though we'll have to wait for Lieutenant Reed to wake up before we know what happened."

Archer sighed. "You should probably get back to sickbay. If something is seriously wrong with Kamea, I don't want her alone with Malcolm for too long." He shuddered suddenly. "You had to see that cargo bay, Doctor. I don't think I've ever seen anything like it in all my years on _Enterprise_." He turned to look at Phlox. "And she didn't even seem to be disturbed by it. Acted like it was no big deal."

Phlox raised his eyebrows at the captain's cluelessness. If he were to venture down to sickbay and take a look at Kamea now, he wouldn't even presume to believe that she wasn't disturbed by what had happened. He pursed his lips and pondered how best to respond to that statement. "We all deal with traumatic experiences in different ways, Captain," he said.

When he returned to sickbay, Lieutenant Reed was still asleep but mumbling incoherently – something that sounded like "Stinky" – and Kamea was gone.

* * *

Kamea wandered the corridors of _Enterprise_ aimlessly, having no final destination in mind. It seemed a silly thing, but she had lost all sense of purpose and was merely walking so that she would have something to keep herself occupied. If she stopped for even a moment, say to rest her legs, she would completely fall apart. So it was vital that she keep moving, no matter how much her muscles protested, no matter how much she wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a thousand years – because sleep wouldn't come, she knew. 

Her arm hurt. Her legs hurt. Her head hurt. Her chest hurt. Her heart hurt. In short, everything hurt. Normally, the pain would have been a good sign – meant she was still alive. But now it was a sign that she was doomed to forever drown in the darkness of her past. It surrounded her, consumed her, closed her in, and no matter which way she went, no matter which direction she turned, she ran into herself.

Or, at least, the shell of a being she had become. She had seen her reflection in the doors to sickbay. She looked like walking death, which was a pretty accurate description of how she felt at this point in time. She could no longer maintain the ruse that she was actually living her life; soon it would become apparent to everyone on board that some sort of robot had taken control of her body and was going through the motions of her daily routine. She could no longer use the excuse that she was fine, because it was obvious to everyone with eyes – and probably even those without – that she was most definitely not fine, that she was in fact very slowly succumbing to the darkness that plagued her every minute of every day of her life.

And she just wished that damn darkness would reach up and swallow her completely, so she could stop pretending. She was so sick of pretending.

Her father's voice still echoed in her head, though it was much louder now than it had ever been before. Before, she was able to simple ignore it – brush it aside. It would be impossible to do so now, when the words were so clear. She could almost see him, walking alongside her, shaking his dark-haired head in disbelief. _I'wak mesukh-yut t'on,_ he was saying. _The present is the crossroads of both._ He wasn't using the tone of a father passing on loving advice to his daughter. He sounded like he was chastising her for her vulnerability. _Vulcans do not give in to fear,_ he said. Y_ou are afraid, daughter, and nothing more._

She wasn't afraid. She was tired. So damn tired. Why couldn't he see that? Why couldn't he just let her be?

Kamea stopped walking – somewhere in the lower decks, near the observation room, where the corridors were usually completely empty, especially at this time of night – and collapsed against the wall, sliding slowly to the floor as her legs gave out from underneath her. She covered her ears with her hands, shut her eyes, and rocked back and forth.

"_Hele ma kahi 'ē_," she said to her father, who she could see even with her eyes clamped firmly shut. "_Ha'alele ia'u ho'okahi._"

She spoke in Hawaiian because he hated it. He had never grasped the complexities of the language the way her mother had seemingly effortlessly learned Vulcan, and so Kamea often used Hawaiian when she wanted to tell her mother something she didn't want her father to know. He would have preferred she speak Vulcan, but Kamea didn't live on Vulcan. She would most likely never go to Vulcan. So why bother to speak it?

She had lied to T'Pol and the others, when she said that her father hadn't wanted to teach her anything about her culture. The truth was that he inundated her with all sorts of information until she felt her head would burst and spew forth names and dates of Vulcan scientific achievements. She was the one who didn't want to learn about her father's heritage. No one saw her as Vulcan, no one believed she was Vulcan, even her own parents persuaded her to masquerade as a human, so why should she care?

Lorian's eyes were before her – mirror images of her own, bright liquid pools of an unnatural blue color swimming before her own eyes like fish in an aquarium. _You cannot hide from what you are,_ he said, in that flat, detached tone he always used. No one else seemed to be able to hear the emotion in his voice, but she could read his inflections expertly. Now, though, he seemed cold and logical, like all the others.

She wasn't hiding from what she was. She wasn't.

She brought her knees up to her chest and buried her head between them, now using her elbows to cover her ears and grasping the back of her neck with her hands. "_Kia'i ia'u._"

Now she could smell him, like he was actually standing in front of her, though she knew that was impossible. He smelled like sandalwood and salt water, which she always thought was weird because he hated the ocean. He had wanted to move to the American southwest after Kamea was born. He consented to live on the islands because it was easier than trying to convince his wife and daughter to move. Humans could be just as stubborn as Vulcans, after all. _Your actions are not logical._

Logical. Ha. She made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat and tightened her grip on her head, her rocking becoming more pronounced, more violent, as she slammed her body repeatedly against the wall. She ignored the renewed bursts of pain in her dislocated shoulder. Nothing about her life was logical. When had logic ever come into play in her life, or even her parents' lives? He had some nerve, lecturing her about logic, when he was about as illogical a Vulcan as there ever was in the history of their entire damn galaxy. Logic, indeed. Damn logic, damn Surak, damn the Vulcans, and damn her father.

_Nam-tor wak vah yut s'vesht na'fa'wak heh pla'rak._

Kamea's eyes snapped open. The great sodding bastard.

"_Hele ma kahi 'ē!_" It echoed off the walls, and when Kamea uncurled to lash out at the phantom of her father, an explosion rocked the corridor, throwing her backwards from the force of the blast.

Pain seared through her body, radiating from her injured arm. White spots flashed before her eyes, and she fought a fresh wave of nausea. She crouched on the floor on her hands and knees, struggling to breathe. When she had recovered, she craned her head sideways and saw that there was a gigantic hole in the bulkhead directly before her.

The realization hit her so hard that she was almost sick again. She had done this.

The empty corridor filled quickly as crewmembers raced over to discern what had happened. She felt several pairs of arms lift her to her feet, but she wasn't able to remain standing and slumped against whomever it was who had helped her. She recognized the scent as Rostov's, but it was like something out of a dream. Her vision was blurred, ethereal, like a photograph that was out of focus.

"Kamea!" Rostov said. He gripped her by both shoulders and she grimaced. "What happened?"

She stared at him, trying to bring his face into focus. What the hell was wrong with her? She shook her head to clear it, and he must have assumed that she was saying that she didn't know what had happened, because he asked, "Are you all right?"

Her vision finally cleared, and she saw what a mess she had made of the corridor. She looked up at Rostov. "No. I have to go."

She pushed herself out of his grip and stumbled down the hall and away from the chaos.

* * *

Archer paused outside the door to Kamea's quarters, debating – for what seemed to be the fiftieth time – whether or not he should do what he was about to do. He had heard, of course, about the incident in the corridor near the observation deck, and after what Phlox had told him about Kamea's abilities beginning to advance, he suspected that she had something to do with it. So, against his better judgment, he went to see her early the next morning, before most of the crew had even gotten out of bed. 

He knew she would be awake – it wasn't like she slept – but the idea of calling on her so early seemed somehow inappropriate to him. Still, that didn't stop him from going, and now here he was, standing in the corridor outside her room. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation that was about to occur. He raised his hand to buzz his presence.

"Come in," Kamea said, before his fingers had even touched the doorbell.

He tried not to be shocked, but it never ceased to amaze him that she could sense another's presence like that. He would kill for that ability. Well, perhaps that was the wrong choice of words. He shook his head – best not to think about that – pressed the button to open the door, and stepped across the threshold and into her room.

It was almost completely empty.

Gone were the Vulcan tapestries that had once adorned her walls. Gone were the many old, paper and binding books on the shelf above her bed. Gone was the wilting lei that hung on the back of her desk chair. Gone was the surfboard that usually sat in the corner by the window. Gone were the pictures that she had taped on the bulkhead directly beside her bed. Her clothes were stacked in neat piles on the bed, which had been stripped of its sheets, and the crates they had pulled out of her ship were half-filled on the floor.

"What are you doing?" he asked, though the answer to that question was painfully obvious.

She turned to look at him, and he thought she looked terrible. Perhaps it was the lighting in the room – it was awfully dim in there, a light bulb must have burnt out or something – but there were great, big bags under her eyes, and her face looked sunken and drawn, as though her skin had been stretched to fit over her bones. "I'm knitting a sweater," she said.

Archer raised an eyebrow. She had somehow managed to keep her sense of humor.

"You're leaving us so soon?" he asked, surveying the damage she'd already done to her quarters. All of her belongings were either packed or very close to it. She must have been up all night.

He almost rolled his eyes. Look who he was talking about. Of course she'd been up all night.

"I can't afford to let what happened to Malcolm happen to anyone else," Kamea said, placing her clothes into one of the chests.

Archer sputtered incoherently for several moments before he was finally able to spit out anything that resembled words. "What happened to Malcolm? You saved his life, that's what happened."

He thought he saw tears in her eyes, but he could have been mistaken. And in the next second, when she turned to look at him, her eyes were dry – just hollow and dead, like the rest of her. "His life wouldn't have needed saving if it weren't for me." She sighed heavily and returned to packing. "I've put you all in danger. It's best if I leave now."

"For who?" Archer asked.

She stared at him incredulously. "For everyone. I've made enemies, Captain. Not just the Andorians. The longer I stay, the more I risk being found. It's a risk I don't intend to take – not any more. I've stayed too long as it is."

He surged forward and grabbed her by the wrist, whirling her around so that she faced him and causing her to drop the shirts she'd been holding. "You can't keep running, Kamea. You may not exactly be safe here, but we can protect you. You won't survive on that ship for very long."

She narrowed her eyes at him, and for a moment he thought he saw some spark of life return to them, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. "I managed okay before I came to _Enterprise_. I'll manage again."

She reached down to pick up another stack of shirts, but he angrily knocked them off the bed and onto the floor. "And what about _Enterprise_?"

"What about _Enterprise_?" she asked, calmly bending down to pick up the fallen shirts.

He wasn't sure he liked this side of Kamea. The pliant, calm, detached person kneeling before him was not the girl he had come to know. She lacked the passion, the raw emotion, the personality that he had begun to grudgingly respect. This new person living in Kamea's body was willing to give up, and the Kamea he knew would never have accepted defeat so readily.

"What will become of her once you leave?" he asked. Kamea stared blankly at him, and he continued. "Since you've come aboard, you've saved her from hull breaches, catastrophic explosions, and several hostile alien races. If you leave, she'll lose one of the most brilliant engineering minds I've ever had the pleasure of knowing." He paused, attempting to gauge her reaction. She gave him none. "You can't just leave her."

"Damnit!" she said, hurling her shirts against the wall. Archer jumped at the sudden force of her fury. As much as he'd been trying to get her to become emotional, he must say he wasn't really expecting it. "I can't stay! Malcolm almost died because of me! I won't let that happen again!"

"So don't," he said, pumping as much anger as he could stand into his voice. "Don't let it happen. But if you leave, you can't protect us. These enemies you mentioned, they may still come after us."

She said nothing, her chest still heaving from her outburst, but he could tell that she was mulling over what he had told her.

"You're in no condition to go anywhere alone," he said, in a calmer tone. "Look at you. You can barely stand."

She turned to look at him, her eyes once again dull and lifeless.

He straightened and puffed out his chest in what he hoped was an intimidating manner. "I'm the captain," he said, "and I hereby order you to stay on _Enterprise_. At least for the time being, until we can get you some help."

Her eyes flashed, briefly. "I don't need – "

"Then it's settled," he said, not letting her finish. He made his way to the door. It slid open, and he hovered in the doorway. "You'll stay on board and continue to do the fantastic job you've been doing in engineering, and Phlox will try and figure out a way to fix whatever is wrong with you."

She growled, low in her throat. "There is nothing wrong – "

He stepped into the hallway. "Incidentally," he said, turning his head to look at her over his shoulder, "Malcolm's awake." She pulled her head back in surprise, and her whole demeanor changed instantly. "Just thought you would like to know."

The door slid shut with a hiss, and Archer couldn't help but grin. He had a feeling Kamea would be around for a while.

**

* * *

A/N: I apologize for two things. **

**1) The amount of Vulcan and Hawaiian (mostly Hawaiian) phrases used in this chapter (translations are listed at the end of the Author's Note), but I figured that since it was Kamea and her father speaking to each other, that's how it would go. I had meant to translate all of Lorian's words into Vulcan, but I'm not that skilled at it, and also I'm lazy.**

**2) How long it took for me to get this up. But I'm applying to grad schools in the fall, and I need to have a superb portfolio if I any whisper of a prayer of getting accepted to my top choice school, and I had a great idea for a story, which is what I've been working on much of this week. But I did say I would have this up for you this week, and here it is.**

**I have plans for one more chapter, which I hope to get up by the end of next week, provided I don't go crazy before then. After I finish chapter 10, this story will be complete, only to continue in Part 5.**

**_Kaumaha_ -- Sorry.**

**_Hele ma kahi 'ē_ – Go away.**

**_Ha'alele ia'u ho'okahi_ – Leave me alone.**

**_Kia'i ia'u_ – Watch me.**

**_Nam-tor wak vah yut s'vesht na'fa'wak heh pla'rak_ -- Time is a path from the past to the future and back again.**

**As always, Surak's sayings are courtesy of the Vulcan Language Dictionary.**

**And, as always, thanks so much for the reviews!**


	10. A Good Night's Sleep

**A/N: Viperion – Ooh, sorry. I plan on torturing you for a little longer. I've still got a ways to go in the series, and I don't want to get ahead of myself.**

**volley – It never hurts to repeat yourself. :) I have no problem with that.**

**firebirdgirl – Archer ticks me off a lot, too, which is why I usually write him as a jerk. I'm venting.**

**scarletwitch0 – Thanks so much! It's nice to have fans.**

**And now, for your reading pleasure, chapter 10. Character thoughts and anything in Hawaiian or Vulcan (and I apologize for the abundance of those phrases, but translations are at the end, as always) are in italics.**

**

* * *

Chapter Ten: A Good Night's Sleep**

Malcolm was in pain. Not just pain – a whole hell of a lot of pain. Muscles he didn't even know he had hurt. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror earlier that day and hated the way he looked – like someone had shoved him through a meat tenderizer. His face was still swollen and misshapen, the gashes on his back were starting to scab and itched like crazy, and though Phlox had set his broken fingers they were still a violent shade of purple. More than one person had made a comment about his appearance – Commander Tucker had said something about pissed off Klingons – but he was at least happy to see that they were no longer flinching every time they saw him. Nor were they speaking to him in hushed tones, as though he was on his deathbed. They were treating him, more or less, like normal, and for that he was grateful.

The thing that hurt worst of all was that Kamea had yet to come and see him. He'd been in sickbay for a week now and had an assortment of visitors – even T'Pol popped in occasionally to see how he was doing – but Kamea maintained her distance. He asked the captain about it, but all he would say is that she felt guilty for what had happened. Captain Archer also mentioned that he had to talk Kamea out of leaving _Enterprise_ altogether, that she was convinced more lives would be endangered because of her presence and the only way to save everyone else was for her to leave.

Although slightly surprised that the captain had gone to so much trouble when he didn't entirely trust Kamea, Malcolm was nonetheless grateful that he had managed to talk her out of leaving. Her abandoning _Enterprise_ and once again striking out on her own would essentially be her death.

Besides, he wasn't sure how well he would be able to handle her leaving.

Apparently, she was having a pretty rough time dealing with the events on Altara. T'Pol mentioned – in passing, because it came up, since she was a Vulcan and "Vulcans do not meddle" – that Kamea hadn't been eating well, or even eating at all. She suffered so many minor burns and injuries in engineering that Trip had banned her from the engine room until further notice, but instead of coming to sickbay she called Phlox to her quarters to come and patch her up.

When Phlox returned from healing yet another of Kamea's many burns, Malcolm was almost desperate enough to ask Phlox if Kamea had mentioned him.

Almost.

But he didn't. Instead, he settled for asking the doctor if Kamea was all right. The basic gist of Phlox's seemingly endless reply was that no, Kamea was not all right. She was about as far from all right as it was possible to get without going completely insane, which Phlox was convinced would happen eventually if Kamea continued the way she was going. He seemed on the verge of continuing but stopped there and put Malcolm through another arduous bout of physical therapy.

Hoshi told Malcolm that Kamea still wasn't sleeping and that now it was obvious that she wasn't – that she had dark circles under her eyes, that the skin of her face was sunken and drawn, that she looked like a zombie from one of those old monster movies Commander Tucker often foisted upon them. Malcolm now knew the reason behind her insomnia, and he wanted to help her through it – he always had, even before he'd known what triggered the nightmares – but she wasn't going to make things easy on him. She was determinedly avoiding him, going out of her way to do so, even to the point of jeopardizing her health.

He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her, what she must be going through, but after everything she had done to save his life he expected her to at least stop by and see how he was feeling.

But she didn't. And the longer he sat in sickbay waiting for her, the angrier he became. Maybe she didn't want to talk about what had happened – maybe she wanted to forget about it – but he needed to get past it, he needed to move on, and the only person who could even possibly understand what he had been through was Kamea, and she was avoiding him. It was infuriating. She was infuriating.

Even more infuriating was the knowledge that, even though she managed to hack him off more than anyone ever had before, he still wanted her. It went beyond a physical attraction, though that was certainly there. There was no denying that she was a beautiful girl, with her long blonde hair and her bright blue eyes. But she was also intelligent, passionate, and kind – when she wanted to be. She had integrity and an unfailing sense of loyalty. She was always surprising him and seemingly completely unaware that she had such a profound impact on him.

It was almost like he was in love with her.

Malcolm pondered this one night while shuffling through the corridors, engaging in what could technically have been called physical therapy but was really closer to aimless meandering. He had taken to doing his physical therapy in the middle of the night, when there were fewer people milling about, because he didn't like being seen in this condition, and also because Kamea had a tendency to wander around _Enterprise_ at this time. He was hoping he would run into her, but he hadn't yet. Still, he liked the time to himself to think, and he was thinking a lot lately. Mostly about Kamea.

It must have been hard for her, to return to a planet that held so many unpleasant memories. He wondered again what the Andorians had done to her and remembered the scars that peppered her upper body, especially the one that ran the length of her back. Whatever they had done to her, it must have been painful.

Sort of like what he had endured at the hands of the Andorians.

He had been anticipating something like that ever since he had signed up with Starfleet, and even more so since joining the crew of _Enterprise_, but there was simply no way to adequately prepare for it. How does one prepare himself to be tortured? He looked at his broken fingers, which were thankfully starting to heal. Hopefully, they would soon lose that garish purple color. He supposed he should be thankful that they only broke his fingers and not his arms or legs.

He also supposed he should be thankful that it was he that they had tortured, because he didn't want to think of the horrible things that they would have done to Kamea. The very idea of the things they could have done to her made him physically ill.

He stopped to catch his breath and realized with a start that, without even meaning to, he had gone straight to Kamea's room. He stared at the door, wondering if maybe he should ring the bell – she couldn't avoid him if he were outside her quarters – but he ultimately decided against it. She most likely wasn't in her room – she almost never was at this time of night. He had just turned to head back to sickbay when he heard her through the door.

"'_A'ole_."

He paused, leaning towards the door, not certain if he had actually heard that or if he were just so desperate to talk to her that he had imagined it.

"'_Olu'olu, 'a'ole_."

Now he was positive that he wasn't hallucinating. That was definitely coming from Kamea's quarters, and it sounded as though she was scared. He hadn't told anyone, but he had started to learn Hawaiian, because he was getting tired of never understanding just exactly what Kamea was saying. And at times like these, when she didn't speak English, it was damn near impossible to figure it out. As he had a lot of free time on his hands recently, he had borrowed one of Hoshi's universal translators. He racked his brain, trying to recall what little of the language he learned, but those were common words, and it was killing him that he couldn't remember.

It hit him suddenly. _No_, she was saying. _Please, no._

He could hear her whimpering through the heavy metal of the door. She sounded like she was in trouble or in pain. She could just be having another nightmare, but could someone have gotten on _Enterprise_ without anyone else knowing? It certainly wouldn't be the first time, and Malcolm didn't exactly want to wait to find out, so he entered in the four-digit security code override – being head of security did have its advantages – and raced into her room.

Kamea wasn't in any danger – except, perhaps, in her mind. She was curled up on her bunk in a fetal position, but she was thrashing violently, still muttering. "_Ho'opau. Mai._" Her blankets had been kicked to the floor, and she was obviously in the throes of a particularly gruesome nightmare. "Malakoma_, mai __ha'alele ia'u._"

Without thinking, he crossed to her bed and knelt down beside her. She was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, which made her hair stick to her neck, her entire face was red, and her breathing was so erratic that Malcolm feared she'd have a heart attack. He stretched out his arm to shake her awake, and as soon as he touched her shoulder she jerked away from him – so violently that Malcolm was startled and fell backwards. She sat bolt upright, nearly banging her head on the shelf above her bed.

"Kamea?" he asked, his voice cracking with uncertainty. She didn't seem to realize where she was, and when he scooted closer to her bed, she backed against the wall, hugging her legs to her chest. "Kamea, it's me."

"_Hele ma kahi 'ē_," she said, and his limited grasp of the Hawaiian language wasn't quite good enough to know what she was saying. But he could tell that she was terrified – that wasn't difficult to see. She began to babble incoherently – Malcolm didn't know a lot of Hawaiian or any Vulcan, but he gathered that whatever she was saying weren't words in any language – her unfocused eyes darting back and forth as though hoping someone would come to her rescue.

He got to his feet and went to her; she continued to push her feet against her mattress, trying to burrow deeper into the wall, but it was physically impossible for her to go any farther. He knelt on the bed in front of her and grasped her firmly by both shoulders – or as firmly as he could with two broken fingers.

The touch was electrifying. It jolted from the tips of his fingers, traveled to his brain, and exploded out of his toes. He forced himself to remember when he and Commander Tucker had been robbed on Risa to fight down the sudden wave of arousal that nearly knocked him over, but then he looked at Kamea and realized for the first time that she was crying. That sobered him up rather quickly; he didn't think he'd ever seen her cry. He didn't know Vulcans were capable of crying.

He shook her roughly, unintentionally banging her off the bulkhead. She cried out in pain and he belatedly remembered that she had injured her right arm during her fight with Akkenar, but that burst of pain seemed to free her from the nightmare's hold. She looked at him, her bright blue eyes clear, and came back to herself. But Malcolm didn't release her shoulders. He didn't think he could.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, and he was pleased to see that she had stopped crying. He squelched the urge to pull her to him – the way she was looking at him right now, the intensity in her gaze, he didn't think he'd be able to control himself.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She gave a choked sob and launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his stomach and clutching him so hard that the scars on his back began to throb. She cried openly, her tears accompanied by ear-splitting wails as she burrowed her face in his chest and sobbed into his shirt.

Malcolm was at a loss. All of the women he'd ever known – and there were a fair few of them – and none of them had ever cried on his shoulder like this before. He had absolutely no idea what to do at first, but the longer she sat there with her arms wrapped around him, the more instinct kicked in. He rested one hand on the small of her back, unconsciously pulling her closer to him, and used the other hand – the one with the broken fingers – to stroke her hair in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

"It was awful," she said after a while. Her voice was raspy, as if from disuse, but it could have been because of all that crying. She didn't pull away from his embrace. Instead, they settled themselves more comfortably on the bed, and she crawled into his lap. "I tried to get to you, but I couldn't."

A lump formed in his throat as he realized that, this time, she hadn't been dreaming about her parents' deaths; she'd been dreaming about his. "It's alright," he said, choking back tears. "You got to me. It's over."

"They would have killed you," she said, ignoring him. "You could have died."

"But I didn't," he said, more forcefully this time. "I didn't. You saved me."

She began to cry again. "You wouldn't have needed saving if it weren't for me," she said miserably. "It's my fault."

He pulled away so that he could look at her. The captain hadn't been kidding when he said she felt guilty about what had happened, but Malcolm hadn't realized that she believed this whole incident was her fault. Although, to a point, it was – but he wasn't about to tell her that, and she certainly couldn't have foreseen what had happened. "Kamea," he said, "listen to me: this is not your fault. You are not responsible for what happened."

She smiled faintly at him. "You're sweet. You're lying, but you're sweet."

He used his thumb to brush away the tears that were still trickling down her cheeks. Hoshi was right; she looked terrible. "Have you not been sleeping?" he asked, though he knew what her answer would be.

"No," she said, hanging her head as though ashamed. "It's worse than before. Before, I would just wake up, but now… Now it's almost like my brain doesn't want me to wake up, like I'm supposed to suffer for what I did by being forced to relive it night after night." She shuddered.

Malcolm cocked an eyebrow at her. "Suffer for what you did?" he asked. _What you did,_ he thought, _was save my life. And rid the universe of some pretty nasty characters._ It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her these things, but he didn't.

"_Vah mau vah tor-yehat ri stau_," she said. She gave a hearty sniff and continued. "As far as possible, do not kill. But when they were hurting you…" She trailed off, her eyes distant. "I wanted to kill them. I wanted to kill them more than I've ever wanted anything in my entire life." She took a deep, shaky breath. "And he's punishing me for it."

Now Malcolm was confused. "Who's punishing you?"

She looked at him. "My father. He's there, in my head, saying horrible things. Saying that I've dishonored my heritage. Saying that he's disgusted with what I've become. Saying that he's ashamed to have me as a daughter. _A__k'sh'iz_." She dissolved into tears once more and buried her face in his shirt, which was already rather wet.

Malcolm remembered that Phlox had come very close to telling him something, and wondered if this was the something he had been about to say. She thought her father was in her head and talking to her? She was worse off than Malcolm had originally thought. He wondered if it was a good idea to leave her alone while she was in this state. She might do something stupid. He couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to her, or of her trapped in that nightmare without any hope of reprieve.

"Would you like me to stay for a while?" Malcolm asked, threading his fingers in her hair once more. God, her hair felt incredible – like strands of silk against his skin.

He felt her hesitate briefly before shaking her head. Her body tensed, and he wondered if she was thinking the same thing that he was – that it was madness for him to suggest such a thing. He was almost shaking with the effort of controlling himself; he wasn't certain how much longer he would be able to refrain from acting on his attraction. The desire – to kiss her, to taste her, to claim her – was just too strong.

"I couldn't ask you to do that," she said, her words muffled because her face was still pressed against his chest. "You need your rest if you're going to recover your strength."

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back so that she was looking at him again. Then he took her face in both hands and tilted her chin up so that their eyes met. God, they were beautiful. No such color existed in nature. "Stop worrying about me. I'm fine. It's you I'm concerned about."

She smiled with her lips but not her eyes. "You and everyone else on this ship."

"And for good reason," Malcolm said, again taking in her haggard appearance. It was now fairly obvious that she had dropped a few pounds – something he had failed to notice before. "You're running yourself into the ground. If you keep going at this pace, you'll run yourself into an early grave."

Kamea shrugged. "Better for everyone else, then."

He stared at her in shock. "How can you possibly say that? You have no idea how that would affect everyone." _How it would affect me._ He had to bite his tongue to keep from saying it, but he thought it nonetheless. "There are people on this ship who would be virtually inconsolable if something were to happen to you."

"People?" she said. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip, and Malcolm shivered in spite of himself. "Would I happen to know any of these people?"

He ignored her. To answer her question would lead them down a dangerous road, one which Malcolm was sure they were not yet ready to travel. "Kamea, I'm not leaving until you agree."

She stared at him for a long moment, as though gauging his sincerity – he felt something prick in the back of his mind and wondered if she were trying to read his thoughts – and then threw up her hands in frustration. "Fine! If it will make you feel better, then stay."

"'_Oia ho'i hā, e ana_." he said, surprising himself as well as Kamea with how easily the words flowed. It was almost as if it wasn't him saying it, because even after the words were out of his mouth, he had no idea what he said.

Kamea lifted the corner of her mouth in a barely perceptible smile, then kissed her fingers and touched them to his cheek. "_Mahalo, _Malakoma."

For a moment, he was too stunned to speak. He finally managed to say, "_Komo mai,_ Kamea."

She lay down on her side, curled in a fetal position and facing the wall. Malcolm stretched out beside her on his back, his hands behind his head. They said nothing more, and Malcolm was content to listen to the rhythmic sounds of Kamea's breathing. He was conscious of the amount of tension that thrived in the inch or so that separated their bodies on the bed, but he chose to ignore it. He forced his body to obey the commands of his mind – Kamea needed help, and it would be ungentlemanly of him to take advantage of her when she was in this condition. But it was difficult to ignore the heat radiating off her body or the tingling that lingered in his fingers where he had touched her. He listened to his heartbeat – or was it her heartbeat? – thrumming in the darkness, and focused solely on that, until sleep claimed him.

He had no idea what time he drifted off, but he woke not long afterwards to find Kamea whimpering beside him. She was once again muttering in Hawaiian, words that were so garbled that he could barely make them out, and her breathing was ragged. Instead of waking her, he moved closer, shaping his body to hers and resting his hands on her arms. She was warm to the touch – he would have thought otherwise, since she was trembling. Her skin was so soft; she probably felt soft everywhere. He could feel himself becoming aroused at her proximity; being this close to her, in her bed, reeked of an intimacy that frightened Malcolm. He had been with his fair share of women – in the Biblical sense – but he had never been one for cuddling, which was essentially what this was. Yet with Kamea, he felt an overwhelming need to comfort her, to ease her nightmares in any way he could.

As he held her, her whimpers quieted, her mumbling ceased. He stroked her arm with his thumb and leaned forward, practically burying his face in the crook of her neck. She smiled like the ocean. How she could smell like the ocean, he had no idea, but he found that he liked it. It was intoxicating. Just being near her like this, it would feed his fantasies for months, maybe years.

"'_Oia a'e lā nō_, Kamea," he said into her ear, so quietly that if he didn't know what he was saying he wouldn't have heard himself. Again, he felt as though he wasn't in control of the words coming out of his mouth. It was as if someone invisible stood beside him, feeding him his lines. "_Au ma'ane'i_."

Eventually the whimpering and muttering stopped altogether and her breathing returned to normal, but Malcolm did not let go. He slid his hand down her arm to her waist, and from there he moved it to her stomach, sliding it underneath the tank top she wore and pressing it flat against her belly. Her felt her stomach muscles tense under his hand, but he did not remove it. He pulled her closer, and eventually she relaxed. He was barely conscious of all this, and after a few moments, he returned to the blissful unawareness of slumber.

* * *

When Kamea awoke the next morning, she was aware of two things. One, that her bed smelled like Malcolm. Two, that it was morning, and she had slept the entire night for the first time in nearly eight years. As both realizations hit her, she stiffened automatically. Her bed smelled like Malcolm; his unique scent – sweat mixed with pineapples – permeated everything. He had obviously spent the night, though she could remember nothing about it. 

She was furious. She had spent the entire night with him, possibly in his arms, and couldn't remember a thing. It was almost too cruel for words.

She stretched a tentative arm behind her. It came into contact with nothing. She rolled over, but she was the only one in her bed. Malcolm must have already gotten up and returned to sickbay, where he no doubt would have been missed. Kamea wondered what excuse he would give to Phlox as to his whereabouts.

She squinted at the chronometer on her desk and saw that it was past 1000. Not like it mattered, because Trip had banned her from engineering days ago, but she was surprised that she had slept for so long. Although, considering she had not slept for over seven years, sleeping for almost nine hours seemed frightfully insufficient. But she felt better rested than she had in quite some time, and was determined to march down to engineering and demand that Trip allow her to resume her work on the plasma conduits.

Right after breakfast.

As it was so late in the morning, very few people were in the mess hall when she went in, and almost no one noticed that, for the first time in days, she was actually eating. She had her usual breakfast of fruit salad and marveled at the fact that she had managed to go the entire night without one nightmare.

It did not occur to Kamea until after she had eaten to wonder why she had slept the whole night, when she had not been able to do so since her parents' murders. But when she returned to her quarters to shower – her first hot shower in years, she almost danced in the stall – she sat on her bed and thought on it for a while. It didn't make any sense, why she was suddenly able to sleep through the night, and the only conclusion at which she could arrive was that it must have had something to do with Malcolm. After all, the only thing different about the night before was that Malcolm had been there.

Kamea had extensively researched Vulcan physiology while she was growing up, hoping that she might be able to explain some of the…oddities…about her body, and one thing she had learned was that Vulcans were touch-telepaths. That was why they were so resistant to the casual touches frequent in human culture. Kamea had learned at a young age that she did not like to touch or be touched except by her parents, but it wasn't until she began to research that she really understood why. She barely remembered anything about the previous night, but she did recall a sense of calm infusing her thoughts, drowning out her father's voice.

It must have been Malcolm. He had to have, in some way, been in her head. The thought was unnerving and exhilarating at the same time. She remembered what it was like to have Wat in her head, and had vowed never to have that happen again, but with Malcolm it was different. His vague presence in the back of her mind – though she hadn't been aware of it at the time – was almost comforting. But she wasn't about to let herself get into that mess again. Best to ignore it, chalk it up to a one-time thing and never think of it again.

Yeah. Like that was going to happen.

She dressed and wandered down into engineering, almost in a daze. It was not quite the triumphant march she had wanted, but Trip looked surprised to see her nonetheless. He was reinforcing the tubing around the plasma conduits, which had been her job until he had unceremoniously kicked her out of "his" engine room, but he looked up when she entered.

"Kamea!" he said, setting aside the molecular welding torch and walking over to her. He scrutinized her, an odd expression in his eyes. She scrutinized him right back. "What happened to you?"

Kamea pulled back in shock. Had something happened last night? She hadn't noticed any marks on her body – Malcolm of course would have been a gentleman – but Trip's comment made her think that she had somehow overlooked something. "Why?" she asked, her hand automatically going to her throat. _Maybe there really is a hickey there and I just missed it._

Trip leaned forward until his face was inches from hers, and Kamea leaned back instinctively. Her area of personal space wasn't quite as large as other Vulcans, but she did have her limits. Her eyes weren't even focused, he was so close – she couldn't stand when someone got to that close to her. Well, unless the person in question was Malcolm.

Trip stared at her for quite some time, but at last he grinned and pulled back. She breathed a sigh of relief as he retreated from her personal space, but her relief was short-lived. "Sleep well last night?"

She bristled at the amused tone of his voice but nodded, determined not to rise to the bait. "I had a good night's sleep, yes."

"And who should I thank for that?" he asked, the twinkle in his eyes difficult to ignore.

She glowered at him. "I don't like what you're insinuating, Commander," she said, making sure to make his rank sound like as much of an insult as possible. She would not let him get to her.

He chuckled softly. "Mal finally come to his senses, then?"

Kamea stood on her toes, stretching as tall as she could so that she could better look Trip in the eye. To hell with her vow. "I promised the captain I wouldn't use my abilities on any members of his crew, but I can still kick your ass without them." To her great frustration, her remark only seemed to amuse him even more. "What is so damn funny?"

He shook his head, but she hated that look of smug satisfaction on his face. No wonder T'Pol was always irritated with him; he was really rather irritating. "Nothing. You want to take over the plasma conduits or go help Kelby with the warp core?"

Kamea narrowed her eyes. "Which one will you not be doing?" she asked, at the moment not particularly caring how juvenile she sounded.

Trip smiled. "I was hoping to continue with the plasma conduits. I'm almost done."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Then why did you ask me if I wanted to take over?"

He shrugged halfheartedly. "Just being polite."

She shook her head in disbelief, idly wondering how T'Pol could be attracted to someone so infuriating, and headed over to the warp core to assist Kelby, who seemed very pleased to have her back.

"These guys," he said, gesturing to some of the engineers who were scrambling about behind him, "are the biggest bunch of idiots I've ever met."

Kamea crouched down to examine his progress and gave him a tiny smile, recognizing his remark for the veiled compliment that it was. "I'm sure Starfleet wouldn't have assigned them to _Enterprise_ if they weren't capable of doing their jobs."

Kelby lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug and crouched down beside her, under the pretext of checking the core pressure. He leaned close to her – though not so close as to make her uncomfortable, Kelby at least respected her personal boundaries – and said, "Well, it's not exactly like there were a lot of people volunteering for this assignment after the whole thing with the Xindi."

She looked pointedly at him. "I'm sure it's a lot safer to be onboard an armed starship than to be left virtually defenseless on Earth."

He threw her a wink. "Most people don't think like you."

She laughed humorlessly. "No. I guess not." She stood up, and Kelby did the same. "Well, idiots or not, you seem to be making real progress. It looks like you don't even need me."

"Hey now," Kelby said. "I'm sure we can find something that wasn't done right that you and only you can fix."

This time there was some mirth in her laughter. "Don't let Trip hear you say that."

Kelby shrugged again. "Commander Tucker knows you're a damn fine engineer. You can check the coils, I don't think the guy I had install the upgrades even knows what the hell a warp coil is."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't resist smiling. "Well, that's comforting."

When Kamea went to examine the warp coils, however, she realized that there may have been some truth in Kelby's statement. Whoever had been responsible for installing the new and improved coils had stuck them in the core upside down. Kamea had to shut down the core and force _Enterprise_ to travel at impulse for a good half a day before she was able to reinstall them correctly. By the time she was finished, she was irritable and exhausted, so she skipped dinner and went directly to her quarters, hoping that her nightmares had finally ceased and she'd be permitted to get some much-needed rest.

It was a foolish hope. Not an hour after closing her eyes, she woke with a start, drenched in sweat, having heard her father's voice in her head. She prayed that it was an after affect and attempted to go back to sleep. Some thirty minutes later, she sat bolt upright in bed, with visions of not only her father's lifeless eyes but also a dead Malcolm dancing before her. The air was so thick with the imaginary smell of blood that she could barely breathe. This wasn't working. She had to get out of there.

She went for her near routine walk about the ship, heading for sickbay without even realizing where she was going. Vulcans didn't believe in the subconscious – the existence of a subconscious undermined the importance of logic – but Kamea couldn't deny that her subconscious was trying to tell her something. She wasn't even going to try to fight any more. It was obvious that something about Malcolm helped her sleep, and if she had to sleep with Malcolm every night in order to not have horrible nightmares, then so be it.

She couldn't help but grin.

Not anxious to have yet another discussion about her insomnia with Phlox, she settled for peeking through the doors of sickbay to see if she could spot Malcolm – perhaps she could signal to him – but he wasn't there. Assuming he'd been released that day – it had been over a week since Altara, and he'd been well enough to come to her quarters the night before – she turned around and headed for the senior officer's quarters just around the corner.

Her stomach gurgled as she approached his door. What was she going to say to him? _Hi. I was in the neighborhood and was wondering if I could sleep with you tonight._ Yeah, like those words would ever come out of her mouth. More importantly, what was he going to think? He would probably think that she was only using him, because she had determinedly avoided him the past week, going out of her way to do so, even when she needed to go to sickbay. But now that she had discovered she couldn't sleep without him, she'd probably be stopping by every night asking if she could stay. He was going to think that was all she wanted from him.

Her stomach lurched unpleasantly – not that any lurch in her stomach was pleasant, really. Perhaps it was best that Malcolm believe that sleep, in the platonic sense, was all she needed from him. She wasn't sure if she could go through that again; her relationship with Wat had screwed her up irrevocably. _Damn shape-shifting bastard_. Next time she saw him, she was going to…

_Damn,_ she thought. _How the hell do you even castrate a changeling? Can't he just grow a new one?_

Pushing all thoughts of Wat aside and only briefly entertaining the idea of containing him in a glass jar for the rest of eternity, she stepped up to Malcolm's door and reached out hesitantly to ring the bell.

He opened the door wearing only sweatpants, and she immediately rethought her decision.

_Damn that man._

"Kamea?" he said, the concern evident in his soft voice. "Are you all right?"

She wanted to tell him everything – that she thought she might be falling in love with him but couldn't let that happen because of one bad relationship, that every time she closed her eyes she saw him die now, too, that her father's voice would not leave her alone, that Vulcans were touch-telepaths and he seemed to be able to project a calmness into her subconscious that allowed her to sleep, and that if he didn't take her in his arms right now and kiss her senseless, she was going to smack him so hard it would make his descendants dizzy.

But she didn't say that. All she said was, "Can I come in?"

_Coward,_ she thought. _Vulcans aren't afraid._

_Shut up, you. Vulcans may not be afraid, but humans sure as hell are. And I don't know of any Vulcans who show up at half-naked armory officer's bedrooms in the middle of the night hoping to be able to crawl into bed with them. So cram it._

He looked simultaneously confused and delighted, if such a thing were possible. It was almost as if he had been hoping she would stop by, and he stepped aside to let her in. She considered going directly to the bed but didn't want to give him the wrong impression, as if there were a right impression to be had.

Malcolm solved her problem by asking, "Couldn't sleep?"

She shook her head slowly, opening her mouth to explain the situation. She choked on the words, though. Crossing her arms protectively in front of her chest, she asked, "Can I stay here tonight?"

He was obviously trying very hard not to smile. "Of course. Whatever you need."

She didn't trust herself to move any closer to him, if that made any sense; she was about to be sleeping in the same bed with him. She settled for simply saying, "Thank you."

Kamea went to the bed and scooted as far over to the side as she could, so that she was practically crammed up against the bulkhead. She curled up into a fetal position and waited anxiously for Malcolm to take his place beside her. After a while, she heard him shuffling about behind her and craned her neck to look over her shoulder. He was making himself a bed on the floor.

Well, that wouldn't work.

"You're going to sleep on the floor?" she asked. It came out slightly more pissed sounding than she had intended it. He gave her a strange look, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. "I don't want to deprive you of your bed," she said, priding herself on how much more composed she sounded.

"It's no bother," Malcolm said. He retrieved a spare pillow from his closet and spread out on the floor.

"I don't want to impose," she said, sending Malcolm telepathic messages that he should get in the damn bed already.

"It's no imposition," he said, not getting the hint.

Her patience finally snapped. "Just get in the damn bed already, you daft git."

Malcolm propped himself up on his elbows and looked at her incredulously, but she thought she detected a flicker of amusement in his blue eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

She sighed heavily and rolled over completely. "Look, last night was the first time in almost eight years that I've actually slept through the night, and I know it had something to do with you being there." She could feel her eyes sting with tears and silently cursed her tear ducts. "I'm so tired, Malcolm. You have no idea. So could you just sleep with me? Please?"

Without another word, Malcolm stood up and crawled into bed beside her. She rolled over again so that she was facing the wall and closed her eyes as his arms encircled her waist, pulling her against him.

It felt so good, being in his arms. His thumbs brushed against the exposed skin of her stomach and she shivered. She hummed contentedly, wriggling backwards, trying to press up against him as much as possible. She heard his breathing hitch and smiled with great satisfaction.

"Don't expect this every night," he said, though his voice was shaky. She could tell her close proximity was affecting him as much as his presence was affecting her.

It was a good feeling.

"Wouldn't dream of it," she said, fighting back a yawn. Already his calm was intruding her thoughts, and she could feel sleep washing over her.

Her last conscious thought was to wonder what it would be like to sleep with Malcolm in the non-platonic sense.

**

* * *

A/N: And so ends book 4 of the Kamea Chronicles. To be continued in book 5, "The Soul of the Father", which will be posted whenever I can get around to starting it. As it is, I am currently going insane, so I might not get much writing done in the near future. Since this is now done, I'm going to focus solely on my writing sample for grad school admissions, and once that's done I can concentrate on my fan fiction again. Also, I'm planning on quitting one of my jobs so that I actually have time off (I haven't had a day off in over a week, and I won't get one until Wednesday). Much apologies for how long it took for me to get this finished, but like I said, I haven't had much time off lately, and it's hard to write while going crazy. **

**_Ho'opau – _stop**

**_Mai_ – don't**

**_Mai_ _ha'alele ia'u –_ Don't leave me.**

**_Hele ma kahi 'ē_ – Go away.**

**_Ak'sh'iz_ – ashamed**

'**_Oia ho'i hā, e ana_ – All right, then, I will.**

**_Mahalo_ – Thank you.**

**_Komo mai_ – You're welcome.**

'**_Oia a'e lā nō_ – It's all right.**

**_Au ma'ane'i _– I'm here.**

**Malakoma is the Hawaiian name for Malcolm. I looked it up on one of the Internet's many baby names websites. I think it was 20,000 Baby Names, but I could be mistaken.**

**And if you're wondering why Kamea doesn't make a comment about the fact that Malcolm spoke Hawaiian, remember that she doesn't really remember anything about that night, for the sole reason that I forgot about that and didn't realize I forgot until I was proofreading it just now. It will be addressed in the next part.**

**Kamea's infamous relationship with the oft mentioned but never seen Wat will be explored in greater detail in later books of the chronicles. Until then, I leave what happened between them up to your own imagination. Have fun with that.**

**Mad props, many thanks, and cookies go to Rigil Kent, Karen-s-c, volley, Lucas43, West Dean, firebirdgirl, scarletwitch0, and Viperion! You guys keep reading, and I'll keep writing!**


End file.
